Pretty Lies
by Rhiannon B
Summary: Azrael is a spy at the core of the Council, working for a group of people who have been betrayed by the Night World. But when someone important to the upcoming Millennium Battle is captured, she must risk being exposed.
1. Unanswered Questions

Title: Pretty Lies 

Author: Rhiannon 

Spoilers: All the NW books, especially Huntress. 

Rating: PG or PG-13, for slight violence, implied sex, and language. 

Disclaimer: The universe this takes place in and any characters you recognize from the books belong to the lovely L.J. Smith. Azrael, Zeke, and the plot belong to me. Will and the Elite belong to my friend Wicked, and are on loan. 

Synopsis: Azrael is a spy at the core of the Council, working for a group of people who have been betrayed by the Night World. But when someone important to the upcoming Millennium Battle is captured, she must risk being exposed. 

**Part One: Unanswered Questions**

Jezebel Redfern sat in the conference room of the safehouse, jean-clad legs sprawled out in front of her, trying not to look as bored as she knew she was about to be. 

Oh, she knew these little updates were necessary, if anything did happen. She knew that they needed to spread the information to those at the safehouse who needed it, without having to track each of them down individually. She even knew that once in a while, pertinent information managed to wiggle its way into the long, pointless pages of news from the rest of Daybreak, and from Daybreak headquarters in Las Vegas. However, she also knew that this meeting would be just like the last few – they didn't know who the last Wild Power was, they didn't know what the enemy was up to, and they still didn't know who had replaced Hunter Redfern after his untimely death. A person who had, in all likelihood, been the guiding force behind the dragon who had attacked the third Wild Power two months ago. They didn't know anything that they needed to know. 

Slowly, others drifted in, and the conference room went from barren to almost too crowded. Her cousin and Hugh were two of the last to arrive, talking together in quiet voices before splitting up to take their seats. Claire settled next to Jez, and Hugh pulled out a chair near the whiteboard at the front of the room. 

Morgead was not among those to come in. The lucky bastard had probably managed to come up with some excuse or another not to attend, as he has the last few meetings. After he had started snoring dramatically during one of the longer, duller meetings, they had been only too glad to see him start missing them. Unfortunately, that was not an option open to Jez. 

Well, that was what happened when you were one of the four people on which the fate of the human world rested. All work and very little play, unless you demanded it. 

The witch who ran the safehouse, a businesslike, stern woman in her mid-forties, was the last to arrive, perpetual frown lines more pronounced then usual. She stood near the whiteboard, and cleared her throat, obviously waiting for silence before beginning. After a few moments she got it, save the occasional whisper and the rustling of paper. 

Apparently satisfied, the witch began. "I'll start this meeting with some good news. We've found out who is leading the Night World." 

This made even the paper shuffling and whispering stop. 

The witch smiled, and turned from them, clipping a large photograph to the top of whiteboard before continuing. "His name is Zeke Poisonwood. Long-time council member and affiliate of the Redfern family, who apparently killed off or plowed over the competition until he was boss. The reason we've had so much trouble tracking him down is that he's been very careful about who knows that he's the ruling power behind the Council. Apparently, he doesn't want what happened to Hunter to happen to him, and he figures the way to avoid that is to be very, very discreet." 

The man in the photo looked young, perhaps in his mid-twenties, not that it was anything to go on when you were talking about vampires – the Poisonwoods had been one of the first families to split off from the Redferns, only a generation or two after Red Fern himself, which meant that he could be very old indeed. Dark, braided hair that fell across his cheekbones and café au lait skin accented toxic green eyes, the same brilliant color as new grass. He was lovely, all told, but that wasn't rare in the Night World. Jez's eyes moved past him, and she frowned faintly. She opened her mouth to ask a question, but Hugh beat her to it, "Who's the woman in the picture?" 

The witch glanced back at the picture, considering the pale, dark-haired, dark-eyed woman half-hidden behind Zeke before replying, "Her name is Azrael Dirae, and she's one of the most Midnight witches you'll come across. She and Poisonwood have been seen together on numerous occasions, and she seems to be his right hand and advisor." 

"And what else are they?," someone asked shrewdly, noting that the pair in the photo were holding hands. The witch just gave him an impatient look, and waved the question off, as if to say that if he couldn't figure _that_ one out, he didn't deserve and answer. 

"So where are they, and what are we going to do about them?," Jez asked, after a moment's pause. 

The witch hesitated, then sighed, "That's the problem. We don't know where they are."   
  


Azrael Dirae looked up from the book she had been reading as the door to her room slammed open, hit the opposite wall with a loud 'thud', and started to swing shut only to be pushed violently open once again. And with that, a very angry Zeke Poisonwood entered. 

Dog-earring the page she was on and placing the book aside, Azrael raised one dark brow at the man, "I take it that things didn't go well?" 

Zeke started to snarl at her, then stopped, and flopped down on the bed beside her with a sound that was half-growl, half-sigh, and not at all friendly. "No. It did _not_ go well." Azrael made a sympathetic noise, and nudged him gently, getting him to sit up. She slid the denim jacket off his shoulders and tossed it onto a nearby chair. "What happened?," she asked, placing her hands on his shoulders for a moment before she started kneading the tense muscles there, trying the get them to relax, the knots to loosen and come undone. 

He made a rude sound, and if anything his back became stiffer as he spoke, "They showed up again. Five of them. We outnumbered them two to one, and they still managed to kill Tasmin, and wound David and Reed. On top on that, the target managed to get away!" His voice rose as he talked, and Azrael winced slightly at the casualties he named, "I swear," he continued, "They're worse then the damned Daybreakers." 

Except that those who called themselves the Elite were a private pain, where as Daybreak was very open in its opposition to the Council. The majority of the Night World didn't even know of the existence of Zeke's own thorn in the side. Many members of the council were also blissfully ignorant. Ignorant of a group made up of what had once been the Night World's deadliest assassins and most ruthless killers, now out for the blood of the place and people they felt had betrayed them. Oh, they all had different reasons, but the end result was the same – they wanted the Council and any other Night Worlders they happened upon _dead_, and they wanted it badly. 

Though they didn't seem to feel that way about Daybreak... They left the Daybreakers alone, and this was not the first time they had interfered with an attempt to harm one of Daybreak's members. 

Zeke was startled out of his furious thoughts by Azrael's voice, "Any luck in hunting down Parker yet?" 

He valiantly resisted the urge to tell her that if they had found Parker, he would not be in such a bad mood, "No. He's impossible to find. If he weren't causing us such problems, I'd swear that he didn't exist." 

William Parker had been one of the most bloodthirsty killers in the Night World, a made-vampire from Roman times. However, that had all changed when he found his soulmate, a little human dancer girl named Kayla. He had been deeply smitten, and the Night World Council had called for her death – he had broken one of the cardinal rules in loving her. And Will, in his anger, had turned on them. He had started an organization called the Elite, for those who felt that they had been betrayed by the world they had once belonged to. Family didn't matter, friends didn't matter, nothing mattered... Except revenge. 

Zeke sighed heavily again, shaking his head and finally relaxing under his lover's gentle ministrations, "Its alright though. The night hasn't been a complete waste." He paused a moment, as if for dramatic emphasis, before saying, "A few of the others were out and about earlier tonight, when who should they see wandering around alone but Morgead Blackthorn? We have the Wild Power's soulmate." 

If he noticed the way that Azrael hesitated, just for a moment, before offering excited congratulations, and then flicking off the lamp so she could congratulate him in a more intimate way, he didn't comment.   
  


Azrael slipped out from under the sheets in silence, and pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt just as quietly, keeping a careful eye on the sleeping man in the bed that she had just vacated. Luck was with her, for he remained sleeping even as she exited the room. She moved down the hall, opening the front door and stepping outside. The concrete of the front walk was cold under her bare feet, but it didn't really matter – what mattered was getting far enough away to make her call in privacy, somewhere where she probably wouldn't be overheard. 

The door closed with the faintest click, and Azrael held her breath for a moment. When no sound came from inside the house, she let out a quiet sigh of relief. There. The hard part was done. 

The front lawn was lovely, bleached of color by the moon's light but sharpened around the edges, so that each shape was crystalline and almost surrealistic. She spared it but a glance before pulling out her cell phone and punching in a number. 

One ring. Two. Three. She could only hope that he wouldn't decide to roll over and go back to sleep, ignoring the phone. But no, her luck was holding; on the fourth ring, a groggy male voice answered, with a phrase that was less than complimentary and probably anatomically impossible. 

"Parker?," Azrael said in hushed tones, "Wake up. I have something I need to report." 


	2. Breaking Point

Title: Pretty Lies 

Author: Hedge 

Spoilers: All the NW books, especially Huntress. 

Rating: PG or PG-13, for slight violence, implied sex, and language. 

Disclaimer: The universe this takes place in and any characters you recognize from the books belong to the lovely L.J. Smith. Azrael, and the plot belong to me. Will and the Elite belong to my friend Wicked, and are on loan. 

Synopsis: The thing about being a spy is that almost no one knows whose side you're really on. This creates problems. 

****

****

**Part Two: Breaking Point**

  


It was dark here. That alone wouldn't have been enough to keep him from seeing. No, that was achieved by the blindfold tied across his eyes - too tight, of course. His shoulders ached from his hands being tied behind his back for hours on end, and his head hurt from being clobbered by what had been the equivalent of a very big wood stick. 

Suffice to say, Morgead Blackthorn was not a happy vampire. 

The fact that the only reason he had been caught was because he had been doing something stupid made him even less happy. While everyone else was at one of the boring meetings he had been subtly uninvited from, he had taken his bike, rode across the bridge into the nearby city, and gone to get his bike's oil changed - it had needed doing for a while, and while their were garages in Hayward and some of the nearby cities, there were none that stayed open so late. It was sheer bad luck that a couple of Council goons had been out and about as well, and had recognized him for who he was, and more importantly, who his soulmate was. 

A brief scuffle had followed, but four to one really wasn't a fair fight. Especially when one hit you over the back of the head with a baseball bat. When he had woken up, he had been in the corner of what seemed to be a very large, empty room, from the way his voice echoed, tied up and blindfolded. 

He once again strained against the ropes that tied his wrists, and snarled when he got the same results as before - absolutely nothing. All the same... Maybe if he kept trying the knots would weaken, or the rope would, either way. 

The sound of a door opening on the other side of the room made him freeze, stop struggling against the bonds. Footsteps headed towards him, echoing eerily in the empty, until now silent, room. Five, maybe six people. At least one of them a woman, since he could hear the click of heels, unless the Council had taken to cross-dressing. 

The footsteps came to a stop a few feet away, and there was silence for a moment save some faint scuffling and the sound of a zipper being undone. Then a man's voice rang out, heavy with both amusement and a sort of natural arrogance, "Greetings from the Council, Blackthorn. We're here to ask you a few questions. Answer them like a good little boy, and you'll go free, mostly unharmed. However, if you decide to be stubborn... Well, I can't be held responsible for what happens. Now, the first question. Where exactly is the Daybreak sanctuary? The one where your little half-human soulmate is at?" 

Predictably, Morgead told the man exactly where he could shove his questions. The answering smile was felt rather then seen. 

"I was hoping you would say that," the voice replied.   
  


Azrael strode out of the dockside warehouse they were keeping Morgead Blackthorn in, and tried to keep the contents of her stomach where they belonged, tried to keep her face impassive. She ignored the were-wolf guard standing there, and he returned the favor. 

To take time to compose herself, and to make sure that her back was to the others when _they_ came out just in case she didn't succeed, she wandered down the pier, heels making hollow thumps on the wood of the dock when she reached it. Like most of the docks in San Fransisco, it was lined with boats. Fishing boats and people's yachts, mostly, bobbing up and down gently on the tide. The swaying motion of the bay's water usually wouldn't have bothered her at all, but right now it just added to the flip-flops of her unsettled stomach. And her stomach wasn't anywhere near so unsettled as her thoughts. 

She had always known that Zeke was a sick bastard, in more ways then one. It was why she had been able to weasel her way into his bed when she was just fifteen, with the intention of murdering him and any other Council member she could get her paws on. But she had met Will soon after, and he had talked her out of committing complete suicide - convincing her instead to join the Elite, and leaving her in the ideal situation to spy from. Yes, Zeke was sick, and that was why, when Hunter had died, he had been able to kill or intimidate the competition until he was top dog. It was why the Elite would have had his head on a pike long before this, if it hadn't been more useful to let him unknowingly slip them information on the movements of the Council. 

But what she had just seen... It went beyond sick, beyond sadistic and cruel. He had hurt Blackthorn, hurt him and hurt him, and even when it became quite obvious that the young man was _not_ going to betray his soulmate and Daybreak, he kept at it. For the pleasure of hurting something, someone, who couldn't fight back at that moment. 

And she had stood there and watched it. Maybe that was what was making her ill, not Zeke's enjoyment in other's pain. The fact that she had watched Zeke injure someone, someone she couldn't help admiring for the sheer courage it took not to give in, and not say a word to stop it, not interfere at all. And why? Because it would mean letting them know that she was the spy, and therefore ruining any chance the Elite had of anticipating the Council's moves? Because she was no longer a grief-ridden fifteen-year-old willing to do anything, including die, simply to get at some of them? 

She just wasn't sure those were the right answers, anymore. 

With a shake of her head, as if to clear it, Azrael straitened, forcing the thoughts from her mind. It might not be the right answer, but it was the practical answer, and right now she needed to be practical more then she needed to be right or guilt-free. Practical was the only thing that was going to keep both her and Blackthorn alive and hopefully relatively intact. 

The loud squeal of one of the dock's boards alerted her to the fact that someone was behind her, and she turned to greet Zeke. 

The lamia was still splattered with blood, and Azrael had to make a conscious effort not to pull back when he closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms loosely around her waist, resting his chin on the top of her head. "I still can't believe he didn't break," Zeke said, a frown in his voice. 

Azrael pulled back enough to caress his cheek, fingers coming away smeared with blood, "Don't worry about it, love. There will be other days, other chances... and everyone has their breaking point." 

Breaking point. Looking into the brilliant green eyes, reassuring the head of the Night World Council that he would be able to destroy the mind of a decent man and pick out the parts that interested him, Azrael thought she had found hers, to some extent. She knew where they were keeping Blackthorn now. She would be making another call to Will as soon as she could.   
  


"_What?_" 

The sheer volume and intensity of the exclamation made a pair of Daybreakers passing the open door of the room that Jez shared with Morgead stop and cast startled looks at the redhead sitting on the bed. She ignored them, which was understandable, considering. 

"Morgead is missing. Our contacts with the Council claim that there's a rumor dribbling through the ranks that some goons grabbed him last night," Hugh repeated, striving to keep his voice and manner calm. It wasn't an easy feat after being woken up at four in the morning over this problem, and then being told to go break the news to the Wild Power as soon as _she_ woke up, but he was managing. 

He watched as conflicting emotions chased eachother around on her face, never settling on one for long, before her expression ended on blank with an edge of anger. Under that, however, there was worry. "If that stupid _man_ gets himself killed...," she growled, letting the end of the sentence hang in the air as if she couldn't think of a threat violent enough. "Do we know for sure if the Council has him? Can we find out where he's being kept?" 

"We're working on it. We'll find him." He didn't sound convinced, even to his own ears. It had taken them months to find out who was running the Council; this Zeke man ran a tight ship. How where they going to find Morgead, if he had indeed been caught, since he was likely even more carefully guarded? 

He glanced at Jez, and saw a stubborn look settling on her face, making those silvery-blue eyes glint in a way that was reminiscent of her lamia heritage; totally predatory and not at all pleased, "Yes. We will."   
  


Will Parker sighed, eyes sweeping over the eight other people in the room. Not all of the Elite, of course, but those that would be going on this mission with him, "Azrael called me half an hour ago. She found out where the Blackthorn is being kept." This got a few smiles, more then a little predatory, and nods from everyone. They knew what was coming, "This is going to have to be a quick job. Two of you distract the guards - they're werewolves, it shouldn't be that hard. Kaltes, Ceyx, if you're willing?" 

When they nodded, he continued, doing a good job of ignoring the glint in Kaltes's eye that meant he probably wouldn't enjoy whatever she did as a distraction; the shape-shifter was more then a little explosives happy, "The rest will help me get Blackthorn away. In and out. Az said it might take some effort, that he's seriously injured." The way that Azrael had refused to go into detail on just _how_ injured he was made Will think that 'serious' didn't even begin to sum it up. 

He shook the thought off; they would deal with that when the time came. "That's about it. Any questions?" 

Silence was the only answer, and he nodded in satisfaction, "Let's go." 

_Notes: Thankya to those of you who reviewed, and to my friend Gift, who tolerated with surprising mildness my making her proofread this and the previous part. And yes, Wicked, at some point, I'll try to have Will use the line "Nanner, nanner, nanner."_


	3. To The Rescue!

Title: Pretty Lies 

Author: Hedge 

Spoilers: All the NW books, especially Huntress. 

Rating: PG or PG-13, for slight violence, implied sex, and language. 

Disclaimer: The universe this takes place in and any characters you recognize from the books belong to the lovely L.J. Smith. Azrael, Zeke, and the plot belong to me. Will and the Elite belong to my friend Wicked, and are on loan. 

Synopsis: The thing about being a spy is that almost no one knows whose side you're really on. This creates problems.   


**Part Three: To The Rescue!**

Zev Lowell scowled into the night, arms crossed over his stomach as he leaned back, or more accurately slumped, in the chair set in front of the warehouse door. It was cold, and dark, and his partner for this guard shift was a Bitch with a capital B who had _finally _slipped off to have a cigarette, and left him in peace. Well, relative peace. The other problems still stood. 

People could talk about sunny, warm California all they wanted to. San Fransisco and the Bay Area in general were _cold_ at this time of year. And rainy. And foggy. And overall, just not pleasant. He glanced upwards, at the storm clouds that had been gathering most of the afternoon and evening, and at this point covered the moon and stars in a heavy gauze of gray, cotton-like cloud. It would probably rain before his shift watching the Wild Power's soulmate was up. That would just make his night. 

He glanced the way the Bitch had gone, and shifted uncomfortably. He didn't like her... But what was taking her so long? He already wasn't happy that there were so few guards, just the two of them since the Council was counting on the fact that almost no one knew about the warehouse to keep their prisoner hidden. 

He slouched further, and glanced at his watch, snarling when he saw the time. Still and couple hours before he could go home and collapse into bed. He was imagining what it would be like to slip between the sheets and close his eyes, and not have to wake up any time soon, when the world exploded into fire. 

"What the _hell_?" 

Not the blue fire that everyone was talking about, but red fire. Red and orange and yellow, all dancing together. The explosion wasn't as big as he had first thought, either - just the dock and a couple of boats near the far end. All the same, he lurched to his feet and headed towards it, intending to see what had caused it. Or rather, who, since it really couldn't be an accident. 

No sooner had he crossed the beginning of the dock, when the silver knife of one of the figures hiding in the shadows there found its way into his back.   
  


"Did you really have to _stab_ him?," one of the Elite members asked, nudging the were-wolf's body with her toe. 

"What else was I supposed to do?," replied the one who had stabbed the 'wolf, leaning over to retrieve his knife and check the guard's pulse, "If we had just snuck in, or knocked him out, he could have come at us from behind, or called help." He paused a moment, then added, "Besides, non-violence wasn't really in the job description." 

The woman just shrugged, and hefted the fire-extinguisher that she was carrying, going to help some of the others put out the blaze that the explosion had started. They didn't need the fire department showing up. 

Will gave Kaltes a pained look as she approached the group standing at the head of the dock, a Cheshire Cat grin on her face, "You blew up the dock? Was that necessary?" So much for a subtle, quiet rescue. 

"And a couple of boats," she replied, sounding far too cheerful. 

With a resigned sigh and something muttered in what sounded like Latin, followed by, "You people will be the end of me, I swear," Will lead those who weren't putting out the fire or taking care of the guards' bodies into the warehouse.   
  


Morgead had been asleep, or unconscious, one or the other, when he heard the door open for the second time that day. Night? Consciousness brought pain, constant and pretty much everywhere on his body. He'd give that to the Council - they were thorough. All the same, he tried to gather muscles that wouldn't support him to lunge at anyone careless enough to get within reach. 

"Well shit," a woman's voice intoned, any emotion aside from surprise impossible to read on her voice. 

Someone cleared their throat, and the feelings in their voice were plain to read for anyone who cared to. Revulsion, and anger, for the most part. "That's just... Did Az mention this?" 

"No," a man's voice replied, just as blank if not blanker then the woman's, "But she said it would be bad. Move it, people. We need to get him out of here fast, in case anyone shows up. Fighting with him as a burden wouldn't be an easy job." 

"Whoever said our job was easy?," someone muttered in response, as Morgead tried not to get annoyed over being called a burden. It was true at this point, but at least being annoyed took his mind off the pain for a while. 

He snarled and snapped as what felt like several pairs of hands grabbed him, with varying degrees of care for his wounds. Now _that_ hurt. Who were they, anyways? And what the hell were they doing? 

"You're being rescued," said a woman's cheerful voice, as if in response to the thought, "And no, we're not Daybreak." 

Well, he had guessed _that_. 

"Kaltes, get the door," someone snapped, with a great deal of impatience, and he heard the door creak open again, felt the air get colder as they exited the building. He tried not to yelp as they jostled him squeezing through the door, gritting his teeth together to keep the sound in. 

"He needs a healer. And blood." 

"Not our problem. He'll be back at Daybreak soon enough, they can take care of it. You have the safehouse's address?" How did they have the safehouse's address? 

A car door opened, and he was put gently, but still painfully, on the vinyl covered back seat of a car. This time, he did yelp, as wounds that had scabbed over started bleeding again and a wrist that was most definitely broken ended up under him. 

"He's going to bleed _all_ over the upholstery," someone said dryly, before the car door shut. He heard the engine rumble to life, and felt the car pull out, before consciousness faded, and then failed all together.   
  


The Daybreak sanctuary was in chaos. 

The longer Morgead was gone, the worst things got. When he had first been caught, it had been a sort of controlled panic, half-hidden and masked by the confidence that they would somehow find him, and rescue him. At this point, the panic wasn't near so controlled, or hidden, and everyone seemed like they would break at the drop of a pin. Tempers were frayed, words were sharp, and arguments became more frequent as people became tired and increasingly worried. 

Worry for Morgead, but also worry that, if anything happened to him, Jez would be unable to, or flat out refuse to do her job as a Wild Power. Personally, Hugh had more confidence in her then that. She might slip off and die quietly afterwards, but she wouldn't abandon them, or the human world, like that because her soulmate died, if simply to spite those who had done him harm. 

Watching her argue with the witch who lead this safe house, however, he was less confident that she wouldn't take a good sized chunk out of someone before the night was over. He knew well enough what they were talking about; a few minutes ago, he had braved female glares and risked being snarled at to find out. It had been almost twenty-four hours, and Keely, the witch, wanted to move those in the safe house, on the assumption that Morgead would eventually tell the enemy where it was. Jez was, understandably, resisting. 

It was starting to get ugly, with violent hand gestures and rapidly rising voices, when every vampire and shape-shifter in the room fell silent, within a few moments. Heads turned towards the front of the house, and it took Hugh a moment to realize what had caught the attention of anyone and everyone with hearing good enough to identify anything over the murmur of voices or the women's argument. 

Idling engines. Car doors slamming. Voices, and a commotion. A loud thump from the door followed by a crisp knock, and then car doors slamming again and tires on gravel. 

The unnatural, straining stillness that had come over the room collapsed as soon as the noises faded, and there was a collective movement towards the front of the house. A raven-haired woman that Hugh recognized as a member of Jez's old gang was the first to reach the door, and she flung it open, eyes scanning over the darkness before landing on the rather limp bundle on the door-stoop. 

"Its Morgead," she announced, just as Hugh identified the shock of black hair sticking out from the collar of someone's long, dark coat. A moment later, the woman added, "He's breathing." The grim tone of voice left little room for relief. 

"_Move_." That was Jez, elbowing her way through the crowd that had gathered near the door. Within moments, she was kneeling near her soulmate and the black-haired girl. She pushed open the coat that covered Morgead, and her already pale skin became a bit paler. All Hugh could see in the brief moment before she let the coat fall back into place was a great deal of blood. 

Jez and the other woman spoke softly for a moment, before they lifted Morgead from the floor carefully. With a rather potent scowl, Jez sent someone ahead to tell the healers they were coming, and the two women made their way towards the infirmary, a very unconscious Morgead between them. After a moment, someone stepped forward and took his feet, which made things a bit awkward and unwieldy, but quickened the pace all the same. 

They were passing Hugh when the other girl caught his gaze with one blue eye, and handed him a piece of folded binder paper, "It was pinned to the jacket." 

As they passed him, most of those gathered trailing after, Hugh unfolded the paper, and frowned. There was a phone number with a local area code, but under that, scrawled in a lazy, feminine cursive, was a note. 

_ 'Sorry he's in such shoddy shape. You _do_ have healers, right? Love and kisses, The Elite.'_   
  


_Notes: To anyone who's wondering, that ending note is completely Kaltes's fault. There's not a chance in hell that Will would sign a note 'love and kisses'. I'm explaining this only so Wicked, Will's owner, doesn't kick my butt. Anyways, thanks to anyone who reviewed, and please continue to do so! Tamashii - I thought you had a good point about Daybreak perhaps not panicking enough, and I hope this fixes that to an extent._


	4. Divining Disaster

Title: Pretty Lies 

Author: Hedge 

Spoilers: All the NW books, especially Huntress. 

Rating: PG or PG-13, for slight violence, implied sex, and language. 

Disclaimer: The universe this takes place in and any characters you recognize from the books belong to the lovely L.J. Smith. Azrael, Zeke, and the plot belong to me. Will and the Elite belong to my friend Wicked, and are on loan. 

Synopsis: The thing about being a spy is that almost no one knows whose side you're really on. This creates problems. 

**Part Four: Divining Disaster**

Weak morning sunlight came through Azrael's bedroom window, filtered by the heavy clouds outside and the rain that had started coming down an hour or so before dawn. That was what had woken her up, and knowing that she wouldn't be able to fall asleep again, she had showered, dressed, and sat down to wait for Zeke - and with him, indirect word on whether or not the rescue of Morgead Blackthorn had been a success. 

Not that she really doubted it would be. Will was an extremely competent leader, and those that made up the Elite hadn't been the best at slaughter and bloodshed at some point or another for nothing. All the same, there was always the slight possibility that something would go wrong, that they'd get caught or killed, and that was what had made it impossible for her to fall asleep again. That was what had kept her up far past the time when she was tired the previous evening. It was much harder to sit there and wait for news then it was to go charging into battle herself. 

The old adage that espionage was more tedium then job satisfaction was, unfortunately, true. 

As if conjured by her thoughts, the sound of a key in the door came from the front of the little house she shared with Zeke, and a moment later, the door opened. Azrael rose to meet him in the entry hall. "You're back late," she said dryly, "Or early, depending on how you look at it." 

His expression was stormy, incredibly displeased. She, in turn, had to fight to keep a smile from her lips, instead attempting to look concerned, "What's wrong, love?" 

He growled, a low sound that started in his chest and exploded from his mouth, full of rage and not in the least human, "They did it. I have no fucking clue how, but they got Blackthorn out, killed the guards, and _blew up_ the dock without anyone being the wiser." 

Azrael thought that she would have to ask Will about that, it sounded like an interesting story. For the time being, however, she feigned innocence, raising her brows, "Daybreak got Blackthorn out?" 

Zeke made a frustrated, feral sound, toxic green eyes flashing dangerously, "Not Daybreak! The Elite. Daybreak rarely blows things up without a real reason or cause... And besides, Will's little 'calling card' was stuck in one of the walls of the warehouse." He pulled a dagger out of his pocket and tossed it onto one of the hall's little tables for her to see, glowering at it as though it were the source of all his problems. 

It was black handled, with a silver rose etched up the handle. The knife's pommel was a solid silver ball, and the hilt had a sort of a gothic look to it. The blade had the words '_oderint dum metuant_' carved into it. Translated roughly, it meant 'Let them hate me, provided they fear me'. It was a lovely piece of work, perfectly balanced and well made. Azrael had often thought that it probably cost Parker a fortune to leave such a signature at all his kills. 

"Ah," the witch replied, keeping her expression sober when what she wanted to do was chortle with glee. Take that, bastard! Moving forward, she wrapped her arms around his waist, burying her face in his chest, partially to hide the smile that was still trying hard to make its way onto her mouth, "But how did they know?" 

"We have a leak," Zeke said blankly, "And a high ranking one at that, since only the inner circle and the two dead guards knew where he was being kept." He paused a moment, before adding in a thoughtful tone, "Maybe I should just kill them all. It would take care of the problem, and they can always be replaced by those more loyal." 

The urge to grin like the cat in Alice in Wonderland grew. She had to get out of there. "You do what you have to do," she replied, pulling back a bit and giving him a small kiss on the cheek before freeing herself from his arms completely, and grabbing her jacket from the coat rack next to the door. "For now, I'm going to drive down to the store. The cupboards are bare, and while you may not need to eat, some of us don't have that luxury," she said with a fleeting smile. When he nodded and gave a small smile in return, she shrugged on the jacket, and slipped outside. 

She didn't notice the hard, searching glance he gave her retreating form, nor hear the quiet response to her careless comment, "Don't worry, _love_. I have no problem doing whatever needs to be done." He could only hope that his suspicions were the result of paranoia, with no basis in reality. 

All the same, better paranoid and alive then dead with a knife in the back.   
  


Hugh heaved a sigh and leaned his head against the back of the chair he was sitting in as the rest of the sparse group that had met to converse with Vegas on the matter of the Elite cleared out of the conference room, leaving him alone. 

Thierry would be there early the next day. Only then would they use the number on the note to make contact. 

They knew of the other organization's existence, of course... The Elite was responsible for the deaths of numerous Nightworlder's in the Bay Area and elsewhere, and had intervened on Daybreak's behalf several times. However, for the most part, they tended to be pretty much hit-and-run, showing up out of nowhere, doing whatever they had come to do, and disappearing as suddenly as they had come. They had never seemed interested in speaking. Until now. 

He straitened and shook his thoughts off with an effort when someone settled into the seat next to him. Giving Jez and quick looking over, he decided that she appeared as worn and ill-used as he felt, if not worse. Red curls lacked luster, silvery-blue eyes had dark circles beneath them, and he seriously doubted she had eaten or slept recently. However, instead of chiding her for it, he simply asked softly, "How is he?" 

"He'll live," Jez replied shortly, eyes focusing on the polished wood of the conference table, "It was pretty bad though. Three broken ribs, a broken wrist, almost all his fingers, and a broken nose. Bruises or burns pretty much everywhere on his body. Some internal damage. Lots of cuts. They think he might have blood poisoning since a lot of it was done with wood. Possibly a concussion, he's drifting in and out of consciousness. But he'll live... They gave him blood when he woke up for a while, and his body is starting to heal itself." She gave him a wan smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes, "The healers finally tossed me out of the infirmary." And the fact that she hadn't fought them every step of the way said more about how tired she was then anything in her appearance. 

Hugh nodded, gray eyes thoughtful, his voice gentle, "In that case, we're going to get some food in you, and then you're laying down for a nap." 

She gave him a sharp-eyed look, and her lips quirked into a somewhat more genuine smile. "You first," she retorted. 

His lips curved into a small responding smile, as he stood and stretched, "When I can." Without waiting for a response he shooed her from her chair and out of the room, towards food and much-needed rest.   
  


Zeke considered the stout man sitting across the desk from him through eyes narrowed into lazy, cat-like slits. He was lamia, and that gave him the sort of otherworldly glow that all Nightworlders had, but otherwise he was about as mediocre as a person could be - short but broad through the shoulders, with medium brown hair cut short, brown eyes that were rather mild and unassuming, and clothing that was somewhere between dressy and casual. His name was Aspen Blackcreek, and despite his appearance, he was one of the best bounty hunters that the Council had on staff. He was perfect for the job Zeke needed done. 

"I want you to follow someone, a woman named Azrael Dirae," Zeke said after a moment, "I think she might be guilty of some double dealing, but I want to know for sure before I act." 

Aspen's brows raised almost to his hair, and a slight smirk made its way to his mouth, "You mean your little diddle buddy might've turned on you," he replied bluntly. 

Zeke gritted his teeth, and tried to keep from showing that he was surprised that word of his and Azrael's relationship had spread quite so far. He let his eyes open fully, expression flat and unfriendly, "What she is or isn't to me is none of your concern. All you need to do if follow orders, and follow her." 

The other man shrugged, as if it didn't matter to him in the least, "So I follow the little miss, see if she's turned traitor on the Council. And if she is? Do you want me to take care of the problem for you?" There was a glint in his eyes, as though he'd enjoy that greatly, but Zeke shook his head sharply, "No. I want her alive and as unharmed as you can manage. That is, if she truly is a traitor. Either way, report back to me in a week's time. Sooner if you find anything of interest. And don't let her know that she's being watched." 

When Aspen didn't move, Zeke made a dismissive motion, "That will be all." The lamia got up, shrugged on his jacket, and left, closing the door to the office behind him. 

Zeke spent several long moments staring into nothingness, as the sun sank below the horizon and stained the sky red wherever it wasn't covered by dark clouds. That and a sharp pang from his stomach reminded him that he was yet to feed today, and he rose to his feet slowly, stepping out of the room and locking the door behind him. From there, it was a quick elevator ride to the ground floor and a few steps across the building's lobby, and he was outside. Soggy night air greeted him, and he set off at a trot, intent on finding an easy meal that would distract him from the meeting that had just occurred, and the results it might produce.   
  


Will stood outside his San Fransisco club, The Raven's Nest, eyes fixed blankly on the rain-soaked, twilit sky, thoughts wandering here and there. Daybreak was yet to contact him, but that wasn't too surprising. They would need time to come to a decision and get the permission of their superiors, and their attention was probably more fixed on Blackthorn then anything else at the moment. 

That was alright. He could wait. Time and old age taught you patience, if nothing else. Besides, other things and other people occupied his mind right then. 

He wasn't a prophet or oracle or seer, but he had gotten himself into trouble enough over the years to learn to anticipate it, to feel it coming. If you saw disaster ahead of time, it didn't take you completely by surprise. It wasn't magic, just good sense and experience. 

And trouble was coming. Big old heaping piles of it.   
  


_Notes: The usual thanks go to the usual people, including my dad, without whom there would be more grammar and spelling errors then their already are, and Wicked, who kindly refrains from commenting on how badly I'm maiming her character's personality. Also, a big ol' thanks to Soraia, who gave me the sweetest review thus far._


	5. Improbable Allies

Title: Pretty Lies 

Author: Hedge 

Spoilers: All the NW books, especially Huntress. 

Rating: PG or PG-13, for slight violence, implied sex, and language. 

Disclaimer: The universe this takes place in and any characters you recognize from the books belong to the lovely L.J. Smith. Azrael, Zeke, and the plot belong to me. Will and the Elite belong to my friend Wicked, and are on loan. 

Synopsis: The thing about being a spy is that almost no one knows whose side you're really on. This creates problems. 

**Part Five: Improbable Allies**

Thierry stepped out of the nondescript vehicle that he had rented at the airport with a sigh, stretching slowly before glancing around. The three-story house they had pulled up in front of was located smack dab in the middle of the suburbs, an upper middle-class area in the hills of a town called Hayward. In compliance with the home owner's association, the house itself was painted a bland shade of beige, with dark brown trim and lacey white curtains covering all the windows. The front lawn and the flower boxes in the two front windows were neat and cared for, and there was even a low white picket fence. Thick eucalyptus trees screened it from its neighbors on either side and shaded the expansive back yard. It looked, Thierry reflected, like a place that should house a couple with two point five children, and a dog. A golden retriever, or a collie, maybe. 

It did not look like the sort of place that would hide a Wild Power and her supernatural friends, or the sanctuary to an organization that was trying to save the world. Which was exactly the point. 

Doors opened and shut as the rest of the people with him got out of the car and started unloading the trunk. Two were from the safehouse, and had met him at the airport, and the other two had come with him from Las Vegas. Not waiting for them, he headed up the front walk to the door. There was even a wreath of dried flowers hanging on the door, which completed the homey look of the place but probably also served another purpose, knowing witches. A very nice little touch. 

The door opened, and the middle-aged witch who ran the safehouse, one Keely Devi, stepped out to greet him. Her smile and welcome were both strained, and he couldn't help but notice that the lines around her eyes and mouth were a bit deeper then the last time they had seem each other. Then again, that had been almost five years ago, when her burdens had perhaps been less heavy. 

He returned her smile with a warmer one, and they walked back towards the house, where what looked to be most of the safehouse's occupants seemed to be crammed into the door and the entryway beyond. Keely gave the group a disapproving frown, and the doorway cleared enough that she and Thierry could enter. 

She led him towards the conference room without a word, holding the door open for him and shutting it firmly behind them, insuring that they would have as much privacy as possible in a house full of supernatural creatures. 

His eyes swept over the eight or nine people arranged around the conference table as he moved to the chair at the head of the room, and the speaker phone set in front of it on the table. Grim faces. Determined faces. Worried faces. Incredibly _young_ faces, some of them. This was the group that would be coming with him if they met with the Elite. He wasn't all that surprised to realize that the Wild Power was among them, since he doubted she had given her keepers a choice on whether or not she got to come. 

He sat down, and Keely settled into the seat next to him. Glancing around once more, he began. "I think you all know who I am, and why I'm here. Who has the phone number...?"   
  


"...And that's about all that went on. They're coming to the 'Nest tonight, before we open for business." His voice muffled by the cell phone's slight static, Will snorted, "I still can't believe they flew out Descouedres for this. Should I be flattered?" 

"Probably," Azrael replied absently, responding to the question itself rather then the humor in his voice, "It means that they're meeting you as an equal, and that they trust us to an extent, since they're putting him at risk. Either that or they're arrogantly foolish, which is one of the few things Daybreak _doesn't_ have a reputation for. Stupid, romantic, and utterly naive maybe, but not arrogant." 

Will made a vague sound of agreement, and Azrael shifted her position in the cramped front seat of her car, wincing when something popped. She had parked in a deserted area of Golden Gate Park to have this discussion when Will had phoned her, and the car was not the most comfortable place to be curled up for long periods of time. 

Personally, she was rather surprised that Daybreak had called in its leader too. She had expected the local authority, but to call in the leader of the organization... That was very good. It meant that they were treating the Elite's overture seriously, as well as acknowledging that they owed a very big debt of gratitude for the rescue of Blackthorn. What might be the start of a good working relationship was happening tonight. And Azrael was going to be there. 

Now all she had to do was figure out how to tell Will that. 

"Azrael?" 

"Yes?" 

"What are you plotting? You've gone silent, and that can't be a good thing." 

She grimaced. Well, she wasn't going to get a better opening then that, even if she would have liked a few more moments to figure out how to argue her point. She _knew_ it was going to take some arguing; there was no way Will was going to let her slip off from Zeke and chance breaking her cover without a fight. "I want to be there." 

"Absolutely not." 

Azrael thought that she had never heard such a flat refusal in her life, but she wasn't about to back down on this. "Why?" 

"You know why," came the response, and if it had anyone else, it would have been snappish. Will simply sounded... overly calm, "If you won't pay any mind to your own well being, look at it this way; you're too valuable to us alive to risk." 

"What _risk_?," Azrael asked sharply, "Zeke is usually at his office until late in the evening, and it's not like the man has me under house arrest. Besides, its not the first time I've snuck out to meet with you, or one of the others." 

"This is different." 

"How?" 

"Busier neighborhood," Will said, his tone starting to border on irritated, "More people, more of a chance of being seen by someone you don't want to see you." 

"So they'll see me. What are they going to accuse me of, Will? Going to a club? Its not like it's widely known that you own the place." 

There was silence for a moment, and Azrael held her breath. Had she just won the argument? It couldn't be that easy, could it? 

Apparently, it could, since a moment later Will sighed, and said grudgingly, "Five o'clock. Use the employee's entrance. Be armed." And with that, he hung up, not even pausing to say goodbye. 

Azrael stared at the phone for a moment, before hanging up her end and replacing it in her pocket. She rubbed a weary hand across her eyes, and then pulled out of the parking spot, turning towards the house she shared with Zeke. 

Five o'clock. She'd be there.   
  


As it was, she arrived about fifteen minutes after five. She parked haphazardly in the tiny parking area behind the club that was kept open for employees, and flipped through her key ring as she approached the service entryway in one of the alleys, finally locating her copy of the key. 

After a moment of fumbling with the lock in the pitch darkness of the alley, she swung the door open, and found herself on the club's stage, elevated above the main room and the dance floor. As the door swung shut and locked automatically, drawing everyone's attention to her, she took a moment to wish silently that she had used the other service entrance, the one that led into the kitchen. It would have been a lot less conspicuous. 

And apparently she needed to be inconspicuous, since each and every Daybreaker was wearing a look as though they had been hit by a speeding freight train. Completely and utterly stunned, and not in a good way. 

Actually, it was kind of amusing to see the Lord of the Night World looking like a fish on dry land. That amusement faded when the young woman she recognized as Jezebel Redfern started to look a little bit murderous, and Azrael decided that just maybe she should try to diffuse the situation before it got out of control. 

So, making her voice as meek as she possibly could, she cleared her throat and said, "Is there something between my teeth?" 

If anything, the tension level rose, and Azrael looked askance at Will. What was going on here? However, he was looking just as baffled at the sudden animosity as she was. 

Then, after a moment, his face cleared, and he snapped his fingers, smiling as though he had just been let in on a wonderful joke, "That's right. Az is supposed to be a bad guy." 

"Gal," one of the Elite women corrected primly, before poking Will in the shoulder, "Now stop playing 'tease the Daybreakers', and explain before they form a lynching mob and completely undo all our hard work by killing our witch." 

Azrael blinked in confusion for a moment, before frowning suddenly at Will, "You didn't _tell _them?" No wonder they had been upset. She would have been upset, too, if her archenemy's girlfriend had suddenly walked in. 

That is, she would have been upset if she hadn't _been_ said archenemy's girlfriend. 

"It honestly didn't occur to me," the Elite leader replied with a shrug, before turning his attention back to Thierry and once again smiling widely, in a manner which would made any sane person wary, "Nanner, nanner, nanner, my spies are better placed then yours." However, Az could see that his eyes were intent and serious, not amused. He was waiting to see how Thierry would react to that bit of information. 

"Christ," an Elite member muttered, "Some people never grow up, no matter how long they live." 

Azrael ignored them, focusing her attention instead on Thierry. He was sharp, she'd give him that - it took no more then a moment before growing understanding appeared in his eyes, and on his face. "You're saying that Azrael Dirae... Is your spy?" The way he said it made it clear that he suspected that it was all some elaborated practical joke, and that he expected Azrael to pull off the elaborate mask any second now to reveal a normal Elite member. 

Instead, she just tucked her hands into her jacket's pockets, and said quietly, "That's exactly what he's saying."   
  


_Note: And another chapter up. The usual thanks to the usual people, and again to Soraia, my newfound writing buddy. ^.~ And yes, Wicked, I finally used the 'nanner nanner' line. Are you happy?_


	6. Redhanded

Title: Pretty Lies 

Author: Hedge 

Spoilers: All the NW books, especially Huntress. 

Rating: PG or PG-13, for slight violence, implied sex, and language. 

Disclaimer: The universe this takes place in and any characters you recognize from the books belong to the lovely L.J. Smith. Azrael, Zeke, and the plot belong to me. Will and the Elite belong to my friend Wicked, and are on loan. 

Synopsis: The thing about being a spy is that almost no one knows whose side you're really on. This creates problems. 

**Part Six: Red-handed**

  


Hugh tried not to wince as each and every one of the Daybreakers who had come, baring himself, Keely, and Thierry, burst into animated and somewhat irritated conversation. Shortly, the noise was doubled as the Elite joined in, trying to smooth ruffled feathers or answer questions. 

Rather then attempt to compete with the steadily rising voices, Hugh spent a few minutes studying the woman who was supposed to be one of the Night World's best. Or worst, depending on how you looked at it. She was surprisingly young, no older then himself, for sure. The way she carried herself, with a certain air of confidence and dignity, implied experience beyond her years, if not perhaps the wisdom that sometimes came with age. Her face was fair-skinned and well-sculpted, right this moment wearing an expression that could only be described as 'remote' - cool, withdrawn, and absolutely indifferent. Which meant it was probably a mask, and not what she was really feeling, given that the current situation didn't really allow for indifference. The rest of her appearance was nothing that hadn't already been seen in the picture taken of her and Zeke; petite and slender, with a halo of dark, strait hair that barely passed her shoulders and eyes like chips of onyx. Pretty, rather then beautiful, but with that otherworldly aura that many Night Worlders had. 

She remained where she was for a few moments longer, as though posing for his benefit, before moving down the steps that led from the stage. She made a beeline strait for Will Parker, the leader of the Elite, and spoke to him in a hushed tone when she had come to stand next to him. The two continued this soft dialogue for a while longer, before Azrael nodded curtly and took a step away from Parker. She then cleared her throat, once, very loudly. 

Silence came almost immediately, most likely since she was the subject of most of the debates that had been going on. She glanced once more to Parker, as if for reassurance, before speaking up in the same quiet, reasonable voice she had used earlier, "I can't make you trust me." 

"Damn strait," Jez muttered, looking mutinous, an expression that only depended when Keely shot her a disapproving glance. 

Azrael tensed slightly, but continued speaking as though she hadn't been interrupted, "I can, however, tell you how I came to be part of the Elite and a spy on the council. And why." 

Silence. She glanced at Thierry for a moment, quickly, almost as though she were asking for his permission to continue, to explain. Apparently, he saw it too, for he gave a quick, almost imperceptible nod. 

She became quiet for a moment, the remote look becoming one of intense concentration, directed inward rather then towards her audience. When she spoke, she did so slowly, obviously choosing her words with care. "My parents were both witches. Papa was from a prominent family, and he started working for the Council when he was relatively young. Not paper-shuffling... Mostly bounty hunting, finding those that had gone against Night World law and bringing them in to be judged." 

"That changed when he met my mother. She was very... gentle. She couldn't stand to see anything or anyone hurting." Azrael's lips quirked into a wry smile, "And he adored her. She wouldn't have stayed with him if he'd stayed with the Council, and he chose her. Zeke Poisonwood, who was in charge of the Council's 'hunters at the time, didn't take that too kindly. After the first attempt on their lives, my parents went into deep hiding. Papa called in some favors, and they just disappeared. A few months later, I was born." 

"And things were really, really good for about fifteen years. We moved from tiny-little-nowhere town to tiny-little-nowhere town. I went to school. My mother got pregnant again, and suddenly I had a little brother. We were happy." 

She stopped for a moment, expression turning hard, her voice becoming clipped and curt all of a sudden, "I stayed late after school one night. I came home, and I found them all dead." No details, no feeling whatsoever. "I knew well enough who was responsible, I had overheard my parents talking about him often enough. As for the rest, like where he was and the sort of thing I'd need to bait a trap, that wasn't too hard to find out. He wasn't hiding then, like he is now. I listened to the rumors, and I gathered information. When I had what I needed, I went to L.A., intending to get close to Zeke, and then off him and anyone else I could get my hands on. So I seduced my way into his bed - " 

She was cut off by a small sound of protest from a human in her thirties who had come with Daybreak, and dark eyes swung to focus on the woman. After a moment's hesitation, she said weakly, "But you were just a child..." 

Azrael smiled, without humor, but it was Will who answered, "No she wasn't. Not at that point." He motioned for the witch to continue. 

"So I seduced my way into his bed," she repeated carefully, not looking when the same woman flinched again, "And that was about when Will contacted me. The Elite had been watching Zeke, and while he didn't know the signs of grief and temporary insanity well enough to see them in his newest acquisition, Will did. So he did a little digging of his own, found out who I really was, and contacted me." 

She fell silent, and when it became clear that she wasn't going to continue, Will shrugged and took up the story, "After she screamed and threatened me with horrible bloody death and tried to take a chunk out of my hide, I got her calmed down enough to realize that I was _not_ her enemy. I recruited her, and managed to talk her out of the kamikaze-witch act. And before anyone yells at me for throwing her to the pedophiles, she insisted on staying there as a mole. It was how she felt she could do the most good, and the most damage to the Council. And she was right. She became invaluable, especially when Zeke started leading the Council. She's given us information that led to the deaths of three Council members, not to mention the saving of numerous people, many of them Daybreakers. Including Morgead Blackthorn." He frowned faintly, "_I_ trust her, or I wouldn't have allowed her to come to this meeting. I haven't questioned your choices in employees, and I don't appreciate hostility towards mine." 

There was nervous movement among both Daybreak and Elite, and Hugh saw Azrael shake her head, as if shaking off the moods that she had displayed while the story was being told. A lopsided smile tugged at her lips, and she nudged Will in the leg with one booted foot, "Don't scold them, Will. You can only scold your own organization. Besides, they have reason not to trust me. I'm supposed to be bad, remember? Commanding the Legions of Terror. Sleeping with the enemy. Worshiping the Evil Overlord List as my bible. Not paying my speeding tickets." 

"You mean you don't do all those thing?," a dark-skinned Elite woman who had introduced herself as Kaltes asked, making her eyes wide and innocent. 

"Well, no, I do all those things," Azrael admitted with a grin, "But with the _best_ of intentions." 

"You know what they say about those," Keely said quietly, a wry smile on her lips. She then gave a laugh at the surprised looks the two Elite women shot her. Apparently, they weren't expecting any jokes from Daybreak. 

"They do have a sense of humor!," Kaltes said triumphantly, and she turned to Thierry, holding out one of her fingers and grinning wickedly, "Pull my finger?" When Thierry just stared at her blankly, a man with glasses grabbed her by the scruff of her neck and tugged her back towards the bar, where presumably she couldn't do as much damage to the mental health of her comrades. 

Hugh found a small smile on his lips, and noticed similar expressions on most of the other faces in the room. Somehow, between the time when Azrael had entered and now, the tense situation had been almost completely diffused. 

Apparently, she felt it too, because she finally took a seat with the rest of them, around a number of small tables that had been hastily pushed together to make room for everyone. Hugh met her eyes for a moment, and she shot him a quick smile, warm and relaxed and about as far from the coldly remote expression she had worn earlier as possible. Then she shifted her eyes away, looking over the rest of the motley group, "Well, as fun as I'm sure my sob story was, I don't believe that's what we're here for?" A slight lilt at the end of her sentence turned it into a question, and Will nodded. 

"Enough lollygagging, people," he said dryly, "Time to get down to business." 

No one noticed when the figure that had been crouching next to one of the room's half-open clerestory windows edged away as silently as it had come, and descended the fire escape into the little alley between the Raven's Nest and the building next to it.   
  


Azrael let herself out the same door she had come in, glancing at her watch as she headed for the back parking lot and her car. She hated to leave early, but Zeke would most likely be getting back sometime soon, and Will would call to fill her in on what she had missed the next day. 

She felt amazingly... Happy. Carefree and relaxed for the first time in a long time. Part of that, she knew, was that she had gotten to see friends from the Elite under good circumstances for the first time in what was probably over a year. The rest was most likely because Daybreak and the Elite seemed to have come to an arrangement. When she had left, Kaltes had been attempting to convince Will to let her bring out the drinks and call for pizza, in order to celebrate the new alliance and the rescue of Blackthorn two days earlier. 

This from the same girl who had inspired the 'Two Council Members with One Stake' celebration and the 'We Finally Got that Big Splinter Out of Will' celebration. Will hadn't been too pleased about the second one, possibly since he had still been sore from their removing a piece of wooden chair leg from a rather sensitive spot. 

Lips twitching in amusement at the memory, Azrael unlocked the car and slipped in, closing her eyes for a moment before shutting the door and preparing to pull out. 

Which is when she met a pair of unassuming brown eyes in the rearview mirror. 

She didn't get a chance to scream for help before a hand was clapped roughly over her mouth and she was dragged into the back seat. Then, the only sounds were muffled grunts and cries of pain as the two struggled in near silence. There really was no competition, though; a witch, no matter how superbly trained, didn't stand a chance against a lamia who outweighed her and had the added advantage of surprise. 

She had been caught.   
  


_Notes: Posting this earlier then intended, but hey. This and part five were originally one big part, but they got split in two so they'd be easier to read and so I'd maintain the 2.5 page (give or take) standard I seem to have set up._

_ I'm really not sure I like this part. For one thing, the whole 'tragic past' thing has always annoyed me a bit, since it's one of the big genre cliches in LJS fic, in my opinion. However, pretty much everyone in the Elite has a tragic past (one of the job requirements) so there was really no getting around it. Warped, morbid senses of humor also appear to be in the job description._

_ A clerestory window is a high, narrow window that's usually slightly slanted inwards. The Evil Overlord's List is mentioned in this chapter, and can be found here:_ http://www.eviloverlord.com/lists/overlord.html 


	7. Fiery Getaway

Title: Pretty Lies 

Author: Hedge 

Spoilers: All the NW books, especially Huntress. 

Rating: PG or PG-13, for slight violence, implied sex, and language. 

Disclaimer: The universe this takes place in and any characters you recognize from the books belong to the lovely L.J. Smith. Azrael, Zeke, and the plot belong to me. Will and the Elite belong to my friend Wicked, and are on loan. 

Synopsis: The thing about being a spy is that almost no one knows whose side you're really on. This creates problems.   
  


**Part Seven: Fiery Getaway**

  


Will stared at the wood-paneled wall of his office hard enough to bore holes, a slight frown set on his face. There was no other outward sign of his temperament, and all in all he only looked as though he was faintly displeased with something or someone. Apparently the wall. But the others would be able to pick up that there was more to his mood then that, which was why he was cloistered in his office to begin with. 

_ And why don't you want them to judge your mood?_, he asked himself with a sort of dry humor. Well, the answer to that was easy enough. He didn't want them to do anything overly stupid. They had been willing to sit back, plan carefully, and wait for an opportune moment when it came to Blackthorn being in trouble. But it was different when it was one of their own. They would be angry, and worried, and therefore not so careful. And he was practical enough to know that you couldn't risk a good chunk of you organization to rescue one person. However, he wasn't about to _not_ rescue her... He wasn't as cold as all that. 

If there was anything left to rescue. He had a pretty good idea of how Zeke would feel towards a traitor and spy, especially one found in his bed. 

Well, if she couldn't be rescued, she'd be avenged. Zeke served no purpose if he was no longer being spied upon and his moves couldn't be anticipated, and revenge was, after all, what the Elite did best. 

For a moment, he allowed himself to toy with the thought that she mighn't have been caught at all, that she was simply unable to call him. But that was unlikely, if not impossible. She _knew_ her comrades well enough to know that they would charge in, guns blazing, if she didn't reply to a call or a signal within a few hours, so she had always been careful to call back promptly, or get word to them somehow. In two years, she had never been late enough to warrant thoughts of rescue. And she had been expecting this call, to fill her in on the details she had missed the previous night. He had made it very early in the morning, when he had first gotten in around six. It was now mid-afternoon. Which meant she was either captured, or dead. 

Will's lips thinned into a hard line. Either way, he'd best have a plan before he broke the news to the rest of the Elite stationed here. If he had a sensible, well thought-out plan that wouldn't get them all killed and might actually work, he would probably be able to keep them from rushing recklessly off. 

That made his frown turn into one of concentration, and his gaze became thoughtful rather then scalding as his mind went to an activity more productive then brooding.   
  


"How long has he been in there?," a quiet voice asked from behind Kaltes, right before a slim, pale girl settled down on the chair beside her. Kaltes broke her eyes away from the door to Will's office long enough to give the woman a sweeping glance out of uncharacteristically somber brown eyes. Storm was a lovely, which wasn't too surprising considering her vampire heritage, and due to the same heritage, she still looked like a young woman in her early twenties rather then the hundred-and-something-year-old she was in truth. That was, if one didn't count the startling gray streaks that slashed through her otherwise dark hair and gave testimony to a life heavy with both pain and stress. But that was the Elite for you; trauma and stress galore. 

"Since morning," the shape-shifter replied, "I tried to check on him about an hour ago, and he threatened to skin me and make a nice rabbit-skin hat for himself. You flew in from New York?" 

Storm frowned over the first tidbit of information, but replied to the question, "Rescuing vampires. Blowing up boats. Making social calls to Daybreak. I wouldn't miss this for the world." 

"Sure, it sounds like fun, but you weren't the one who spent three hours trying to get the blood stains out of the back seat of Ceyx's car," Kaltes grumped, not specifying how the blood had gotten there and knowing she gave lie to the complaint by grinning. 

That got a chuckle out of Storm, and she rose to her feet gracefully, "I'll go have a word with His Grouchiness," she promised, and was just turning to the door that led to the office when it swung open of its own accord. Will walked out, eyes falling on the two women immediately outside for a moment. He looked mildly surprised to see Storm standing there, but the expression smoothed over as quickly as it had appeared, and her turned his attention to the rest of the group in the room, "I want everyone in here within ten minutes." 

It was clearly an order, and one that they chose to follow. Within minutes, all of the Elite currently present at the group's San Fransisco headquarters were gathered in the room, having been dragged away from whatever they had been doing. No few faces were grumpy, notably those who had been up until and ungodly hour meeting with Daybreak and were only now catching up on their sleep. 

Kaltes considered their leader, wondering what was so urgent that he had called such an abrupt meeting. She didn't have to wonder long, for Will wasted no time getting to the subject, "I have reason to think that Az got caught." Kaltes was one of those to blink in surprise, and suddenly even the sleepiest among them looked alert. They had all known that getting caught was a risk of being a spy, but it had never really seemed that it would happen to Azrael; she had been in place two years, after all, and had the moon's own luck when it came to sneaking out or making secret phone calls. 

"So we're going to rescue her," Will said, once he had given everyone a moment to absorb this, "I want everyone who's able and in the area on this. We're not going for subtle here. We are, however, going for quick. Grab her and leave. Do not pass Go, do not collect two hundred dollars, do not kill anything no matter how tempting it may be. We'll try the house where they were living, and if they're not there, we'll stop long enough to find some unfortunate underling of Zeke's to convince to locate them for us. Time is important though. The sooner we do this, the less Zeke will be expecting us, and the better our chances are." 

"Well," Kaltes said, after a brief silence, sounding slightly dazed, "We're just rescuing everyone these days, aren't we?" 

Before anyone had a chance to reply to that, Ceyx, her partner, put in quietly, "What if she's dead? Zeke doesn't have any reason to keep her alive." He pushed his glasses up on his nose, looking a little uncomfortable at having to be the one to broach the subject. 

Will shrugged, and smiled faintly. Kaltes thought that Zeke would probably wet his pants if he saw that smile; without humor, cold, and completely merciless. This was what had made Will one of the most vicious killers in the Night World, centuries ago, "Then we kill anything that moves, hunt Zeke down, and hang his head on a pike outside the door." 

"Smells like fun," Kaltes muttered, "If not exactly inconspicuous. And the scent of decay would eventually get rather bothersome..." Storm made a choked sound that might have been a laugh, and Kaltes gave her a sideways glance and a faint grin before raising her hand, like a kindergartener waiting to be called on. 

Will's gaze swung to her, and his expression turned somewhat dubious, as though he wasn't quite sure he _wanted_ to hear what the rabbit-shifter had to say, "Yes Kaltes?" 

Kaltes smiled, that wide, wicked grin she was notorious for among her colleagues, even though she didn't feel much like smiling at the moment, "Can we invite Daybreak?"   
  


Azrael forced herself to remain limp as she was dumped unceremoniously on the brown-carpeted floor of a dark, barren room. She waited until she heard the door slip shut and lock before opening her eyes. 

As far as they would open, that was. They both felt puffy and hurt, which meant they were probably turning that interesting shade of blue-black that bad bruises had. 

She moved slowly, cautiously, trying to see what ached, and what was going to cause problems and cramp up if she had to run or fight. It wasn't as bad as she had thought, for which she was grateful. Bruises, mostly, and her wrists hurt something fierce as a result of the too-tight shackles around them. Iron, of course, to block magic and weaken her. 

The fact that she was only bruised and bleeding, with nothing broken save a finger or two, told her that Zeke had held back in the beating he had administered. He was a vampire, after all, and could have beaten her to a bloody pulp without breaking a sweat. The thought brought no relief, since the fact that he hadn't done so meant that he had something worse planned for her. 

Anger hadn't made Zeke completely stupid, unfortunately. They were no longer at the house, so Will and the others would be unable to find her. The little room she was in had no windows or furniture, only one door, and the vacant house they were at now was literally crawling with guards. He had also had her searched for weapons, and they had found each and every one of them. 

He had made two mistakes, however. He hadn't had her searched for anything _but_ weapons, and he had shackled her hands in front of her, rather then behind. 

With a wince for her hurts, she inserted two of her unbroken fingers into her shoe, between the side of the boot and her instep. After a moment of rifling, her fingers encountered metal, warmed to body temperature from all the time spent up against her foot. 

It was a lock pick. Slim and flat and really not all that good, but it would serve the purpose well enough. At least, she hoped so. Careful not to drop it and waste more time searching for it in the dark, she inserted one end into the lock, and got to work, using her fingers as best she could and her teeth when she had to. 

Azrael was by no means adept at picking locks, and the fact that her tools were inferior and it was hard to see slowed her down even further. After what felt like an eternity, a soft click and the sudden loosening of one of the shackles told her that she was half free. 

After making sure that the sound, however faint, wasn't going to draw her guards to her, she turned her attention to the other wristlet. Most people wouldn't worry about freeing the other hand, since unlocking one left the hands free to move and the shackles hanging from one wrist. But without her weapons, she needed to be free to work her magic, or there was no chance of her getting out in once piece. 

Finally, she was loose. She let the shackles and the lock pick fall to the floor, and stood slowly, biting her lip to keep from crying out as several aches and pains protested. When she was on her feet, she cupped her hands carefully, and concentrated on the spell she needed, lips moving silently in words learned long before she had joined the Elite. 

Slowly, a soft orange glow started between her hands, lighting them up from inside and showing in vivid detail the blood and bruises that decorated the backs of her hands, as well as the odd angles of two of her fingers. She turned towards the room's door, and released the witchfire. 

The door exploded out in a rain of splinters and fire, and Azrael smiled in satisfaction as she stepped neatly over the remains of the door and the body of the guard who had apparently had the misfortune of being in front of said door. Already, she was calling the witchfire to her hands again.   
  


_Notes: Yeah, yeah, my pacing sucks. Sorry if I rushed this, but I didn't want to spend parts and parts on an escape/rescue/whatever. It isn't that important to the overall plot, so I just wanted it out of the way. Also, Storm isn't my character. She's another one of Wicked's. I have no clue how and why she's in Pretty Lies... Just kind of bullied her way into this part. I mean, jeez. I can handle being bullied by my own characters, but my friends' characters too?_


	8. A New Assignment

Title: Pretty Lies 

Author: Hedge 

Spoilers: All the NW books, especially Huntress. 

Rating: PG or PG-13, for slight violence, implied sex, and language. 

Disclaimer: The universe this takes place in and any characters you recognize from the books belong to the lovely L.J. Smith. Azrael, Zeke, and the plot belong to me. Will and the Elite belong to my friend Wicked, and are on loan. 

Synopsis: The thing about being a spy is that almost no one knows whose side you're really on. This creates problems. 

**Part Eight: A New Assignment**

_ Maybe_, Hugh thought to himself ruefully, _Its time to admit defeat and get some rest._

Rest was something he hadn't been getting a lot of in the past week or so, and it was starting to take its toll. His eyes felt dry and gritty, his head hurt, and his shoulders and back ached from too much time spent in one of the conference room's semi-comfortable chairs. Usually, he tried not to push himself this hard, but there had simply been too much to do recently, between acting as Keely's unofficial second-in-command, and being Jez's emotional support with Morgead temporarily down and out for the count. Not that he resented either of those duties, but it was a lot to do and left little time to take care of one's self. 

Although, if he were to be perfectly honest, which he usually was, he didn't actually _have_ to be at this meeting. He wasn't a fighter, or a great tactical mind, and he certainly wouldn't be on the rescue team. 

When he noticed a hint of the gray haze that usually signified extreme exhaustion around the corners of his vision, he decided it was definitely time to throw in the towel and get some sleep. He started to excuse himself, when the door to the conference room swung open, and there stood the topic of this get-together. 

Though she was holding onto the arm of a pretty Hispanic woman he remembered from the previous night, Azrael was standing on her own two feet, no mean feat considering she looked like she was one big bruise. She looked at the group for a moment, before smiling a faint, wry smile. "Hi." No response. "Can I sit down before I fall down?" 

There was an instant clamor as people scrambled to vacate their chairs for her, no matter that there were perfectly good chairs already vacant. Several people, mostly Elite, started talking at once, interrupting eachother and making it hard to hear any one comment clearly. 

"Az! 

"You're here! _How_ are you here?" 

"You ok?" 

"Jeez guys, give her some room, wouldya?" 

"You're certainly for dramatic entrances these days, hey Az? Did you know that you look like a raccoon?" 

The last was, predictably, from Kaltes, who was grinning like a maniac, and Azrael, now sitting, chuckled reluctantly. "Do I? The way my face feels, I figured I looked more like raw meat then and furry animal." She sighed softly, slumping in the chair. 

"I'd say that's accurate," Will said dryly, before shooting the Hispanic woman a sharp look, "Veridian? What did you do?" 

Veridian blinked at him for a moment, before frowning faintly, "Hey, not quite that stupid. I did _not_ go in and rescue her on my own, without telling anyone. She called me just as I was leaving for the sanctuary, and asked me to come and get her. So I drove into San Fransisco to pick her up, which took longer then one would expect since the traffic was _terrible_, and then... Here we are." 

Thierry cleared his throat, "That still leaves quite a few holes in the story." 

Eyes shifted to the badly beaten witch, who sighed again, more heavily this time, and looked at Will, "Do I _have_ to?" She sounded almost comically young. 

"Yes," Will replied, without pause, before echoing the sigh, "You did something dumb, didn't you?" 

"Mmm-hmm," Azrael said, looking rather sheepish, "I got into the car without checking the back seat." 

Kaltes wrinkled her nose, and groaned, "Oh, come on. I know I took you to see Urban Legends. That should have taught you." 

Azrael looked at the other woman blankly for a moment, before continuing, "Zeke had someone tailing me, and he grabbed me when I got into the car. Gave me a good tap to the head, and when I woke up, I was inside the living room of a vacant house, sans weapons, phone, and wallet. Zeke strutted around, made a few threats about mutilation and painful death and the like, then smacked me around a bit. I played unconscious, and they dumped me in a room. Once I was alone, I got the handcuffs off, and..." She trailed off, then shrugged, "Barbeque." She cast a defensive look around, as though she expected someone to scold her for killing her captors. When no rebuke came, she continued, "Zeke and the guy who grabbed me weren't there, so as far as I know, they're both still alive. I went down the block, and made a collect call to Veridian. She picked me up and we came here." 

Will seemed to mull over this, before grunting slightly in what sounded like satisfaction and looking to Thierry, "I know that you're busy with Blackthorn, but do you have a healer free to look at her?" His lips compressed, and his eyes glittered with a cold, feral light, "While we decide what we're going to do about Mr. Zeke Poisonwood." 

Thierry nodded, his own expression somber, if not quite so murderous as Will's, "Of course. If someone would show her to the infirmary?" 

"I will," Hugh put in quietly, "I was planning on leaving, in any case." Besides, he was the only non-fighter still at the meeting; Keely had left for bed hours ago, and while it was unlikely that Jez and Thierry would be permitted to take any action that might endanger them, they both had experience planning for this sort of thing. 

He stood, and headed for the still open door to the room as Veridian moved to take his newly vacant seat. Behind him, he heard Azrael say, "You'll fill me in?," to someone in a soft voice. Briefly following that there came the sound of her chair scraping out, and he stopped to wait for her outside the door. 

She emerged soon after him, and flashed a small smile, obviously being careful of the splits in her lips and her bruised face, "Lead on."   
  


"There's clean clothing behind the curtain," The night-shift healer told Azrael in a clipped voice, and the Elite member sighed in relief as she slipped off the examination table, "I'll throw your clothing in to be cleaned, and I want you to stay here overnight." Azrael scowled, but didn't protest, knowing how futile it was to argue with healers. Instead, she just slipped behind the curtain, finding a set of loose, black sweatpants and a gray t-shirt laid out on the neatly made hospital bed. 

The human boy who had escorted her here had long since excused himself for bed. Not surprising, considering the job of escort had included assuring the healer, who had not been at the preceding night's little jamboree, that Azrael was not an enemy, and then placating the rather confused and flustered woman. His patience had seemed endless, especially considering he had looked like he'd been put through a wringer when the evening had begun, and worse by time he had shuffled off to sleep. She knew _she'd_ have lost her temper with the woman before long. 

_ Then again, the evening isn't over yet_, Azrael thought to herself with wry humor, remembering the healer's comment about staying the night. Quickly, she shed the hospital gown she had been given, and slipped into the clothing provided. The pants were to big, hanging loosely around her hips, and the shirt was too tight, but they were comfortable enough and they would do until her own were clean. 

The healer looked her over critically as she emerged from the curtained off section, "I'd tell you to rest and take it easy until you heal completely, but I know the Daybreak fighters well enough to know you won't listen." 

"Yes she will," Will said quietly, having slipped in the door with the silent grace of a man who was accustomed to being the predator's predator. There was a faint, amused smile on his lips, which made Azrael instantly wary, since it meant he was probably plotting something she wouldn't like, "In fact, you have my full permission to tie her to the bed and force-feed her through a tube if she refuses to sit still and heal like a good little girl." He jerked his head towards the door that exited into the hall, meaning that he wanted to speak to Az privately. 

Azrael hobbled out, and he followed her, shutting the infirmary's door behind them to insure privacy. The hallway was dark, the only light coming from windows at either end, and absolutely silent, since most of the safehouse's occupants were already asleep. "Am I going to get yelled at?," she asked, raising her brows, "'Cause if so, I'd really like to wait until tomorrow, when I'm well enough to yell back, or an least cringe properly." 

Will looked surprised for a second, before shaking his head, and running a hand through his short brown hair. "No, that's not it." He stopped, obviously gathering his thoughts, before continuing slowly, carefully, "The meeting broke up about half an hour ago, but I stayed after to talk to Thierry." He kept his eyes on her, with much the same look he had used to gauge Thierry's reactions when telling that Azrael was a spy. He took her silence as an invitation to keep going, "You need time to rest and recover, and a light assignment after spending two years with Zeke. I need an envoy with Daybreak. So I'm assigning you here. You'll take time to heal, and once that's done, you can start hunting with the Elite again. If you're all better by time we track Zeke down, you can come with when we hit him. Understood?" 

Azrael gritted her teeth, and tried not to be annoyed or disappointed. He was only doing what he thought best, but... She had spent two _years_ away from the place and people she had started to call home, and now he wanted her to spend more time away, in the company of people she didn't identify with at all, who really couldn't identify with her? Perhaps Daybreak wasn't all fluffy peacemakers, but they were a hell of a lot more tolerant and non-violent then the Elite. "Understood," she ground out, not bothering to hide that she was displeased, and turned to go back into the infirmary. 

Will caught her arm above the elbow before she could get far, giving it a reassuring squeeze, "It's not forever. Just until you heal, and rest, then I'll put someone else here as envoy." He let go, and took a step back, "Goodnight, Azrael." 

She sighed, then chuckled, irritation forgotten, "If you say so. G'night, Parker."   
  


_Notes: And here's part number eight. I really have nothing to say in the notes, except to thank my two new reviewers, plot-less and Anaita, and my partners in crime, Soraia and Wicked. Ya'll are great._

_ Also, Veridian is another character who belongs to Wicked. I think there are more of Wicked's characters in this then mine. That's so creepy._


	9. Method to the Madness

Title: Pretty Lies 

Author: Hedge 

Spoilers: All the NW books, especially Huntress. 

Rating: PG or PG-13, for slight violence, implied sex, and language. 

Disclaimer: The universe this takes place in and any characters you recognize from the books belong to the lovely L.J. Smith. Azrael, Zeke, and the plot belong to me. Will and the Elite belong to my friend Wicked, and are on loan. 

Synopsis: The thing about being a spy is that almost no one knows whose side you're really on. This creates problems. 

**Part Nine: Method to the Madness**

  


Aspen nudged one charred corpse with his foot, maintaining a surreptitious distance from Zeke. The corpse in question had once been a 'shifter, from the four-legged shape and the clumps of burned fur. A cat of some kind, maybe. The whole house smelled of scorched flesh and fur, though the structure itself hadn't even been singed, save a coupled spots on the carpet where a burning body had fallen and the door to the room that had held the witch. 

Well, the little miss certainly was _dangerous _when riled. 

He glanced sideways at Zeke, who was going from body to body, no doubt trying to identify his minions and figure if anyone had escaped the carnage. Aspen sincerely doubted it, but he let the Night World leader check, since when he was checking, he wasn't throwing a temper tantrum. More importantly, he wasn't throwing furniture. 

Zeke rose to his feet, and stalked over to Aspen. He didn't look entirely sane, face flushed, and eyes fever bright. He came to a stop in front of the bounty hunter, and his voice was so distorted by anger that the words were hard to make out. Hard, but not impossible. "Find her. Kill her." 

Aspen smiled, anticipation of the hunt making his pulse speed up suddenly and his blood heat, "My pleasure."   
  


Azrael woke to an unfamiliar bed, surrounded by plain cotton curtains of a pale blue. Panic made her bolt upright in the bed suddenly; pain reminded her of where she was and why she was there. 

Bright morning light lit up the infirmary, meaning that the drizzle and cloud cover of the past few days had finally lifted. It would still be cold enough to need a jacket outside, and windy, but not quite so wet. The room on the other side of her curtain was silent, except for the quiet sound of someone talking to himself. It took her a moment to decipher the words, but when she did, she smiled. 

"Jell-O. They give me _Jell-O_. Like it has any nutritional value for me. Not that it has nutritional value for anyone, but..." 

The speaker sounded entirely irritated, and Azrael pondered just hiding in her little bed area and not risking a confrontation with an aggravated fellow patient. Discarding the idea, she swung her legs over the side of the mattress and let her feet dangle momentarily before settling on the cold white tiles of the floor. She pushed into a standing position, and took a moment to steady herself before parting the curtain and sticking her head out. 

In a bed on the opposite side of the room, his own curtain already open, sat Morgead Blackthorn, glaring at what appeared to be a cup of unnaturally colorful lime Jell-O. He looked much better then the last time she had seen him, not surprising considering it had been several days and, annoying as they were, the Daybreak healers seemed very competent. Come to think of it, the fact that he was still abed gave testimony to just how injured he had been. 

"Don't like the menu?," she asked, drawing that baleful green glare to her. Morgead looked her over once, and snarled, before turning his gaze back to the much-hated lime Jell-O. The reaction only made her chuckle and emerge fully from behind the curtain. She had dealt with both Zeke and Will in the midst of moods that ranged from annoyed to homicidal; a vampire who didn't like hospital food didn't scare her in the least. 

He looked up again, and apparently decided that since she didn't seem to be going away, she deserved a further answer. "Who are you?" It was blunt, bordering on rude, and just to be contrary Azrael responded in as polite a tone as she could muster. 

"Azrael Dirae. I'm with the Elite." 

Morgead grunted, and placed the Jell-O cup back in its little niche in the tray on his bedside table. "Ah. Jez mentioned you." 

That made her grin in a manner highly reminiscent of Kaltes at her worst, "Really? What did she say?" 

He slanted a sideways glance at her, "That for a bi-polar nutcase, you had a good sense of humor." 

She snorted, picking up the cup of Jell-O and shaking it experimentally, wrinkling her nose when it shimmied and wriggled like a living thing. In her opinion, food just wasn't supposed to do that, "If she thinks I'm a nutcase, she should meet the rest of the Elite. Though they tend to be more murderous then bi-polar." 

It was his turn to snort. "I noticed. Though they did seem rather concerned about the state of their seat cushions." 

She opened her mouth to ask him to clarify, then shut it, deciding that she probably didn't want to know. 

The infirmary door opened then, and in came two women. The first went immediately to the little desk in one corner of the infirmary after giving them a very odd look. The second was a young shape-shifter with green-dyed hair who Azrael recognized as a Daybreaker from the alliance meeting with the Elite. She stopped in front of Az, giving her a cool glance before jerking her head back towards the door, "The healers say you're free to go. I'm supposed to show you to your room so you can shower and dress; one of your people brought by a suitcase of your things this morning. After that, Keely and Thierry want you in the conference room so they can introduce you to the rest of the people at the sanctuary." 

She turned and headed off without waiting for an answer, and the witch was left with no other choice then to follow her and try not to dread the upcoming assembly too much.   
  


Jez slipped silently into the infirmary, finding it empty except for her soulmate. That made sense, as everyone else was down in the conference room, being introduced to the Elite member in their midst. That was just fine with Jez; _she_ was going to use the time to steal a few moments with her soulmate that didn't include a busybody healer hovering over them. 

Well, maybe she was being a bit unfair, but her time in the infirmary after she had been staked had made her somewhat biased on the subject of Daybreak's healers. 

Morgead was busy scowling at a magazine that she knew he couldn't be reading. For one, it was an issue of Cosmopolitan. For another, it was upside down. He had been doing a lot of scowling as of late, but that was understandable since, like her, he hated bed rest with a passion. 

"Hey," she greeted softly, and his head jerked up, expression relaxing into a smile when he saw her. She sat down in the chair next to his bed, and plucked the magazine out of his hands, turning it upright and glancing over the article it was open to, "'Thirty seductive lines to use on a guy.' Hmm. Is there something you want to tell me, Morgead?," she teased, grinning wickedly. 

Morgead made a face at her, "Bite me, Jezebel." 

She frowned for a moment when he used her full name, before smiling lazily, "I would, but you'd enjoy it too much." 

A cheerful, affectionate exchange of insults followed, which eventually dissolved into Jez trying to force-feed him Jello-O, and from there, into a rather undignified food fight. So, when the day-shift healer returned from the meeting, she found her previously immaculate infirmary and patient splattered with what was left of that morning's food. 

The woman made a strangled little noise, but recovered with amazing speed, shaking her head. "I was just coming to tell you that he's well enough to go, as long as he doesn't try anything too strenuous." As if to clarify, she added, "Both of you, get our of my infirmary. Now." 

The two hurried to obey before she changed her mind. As they were heading out the door, Jez said with quiet mirth, "See? I told you there was a method to my madness." This sparked another round of banter, which lasted all the way to their room.   
  


Azrael let out a sigh of relief as she closed, and locked, the door to her new bedroom. Meeting the rest of those at the sanctuary hadn't been as bad as she had anticipated, but if she never had to go through another introduction for the rest of her life, if would be too soon. Briefly, she wondered if the stigma of being with Zeke, even as a spy, would hang over her head forever. If she would always be greeted as Azrael Dirae, bitchiest Midnight witch around, lover to the head of the council. 

Maybe she'd just change her name again, cut her hair, and open a country club in Florida. 

She made a disgusted sound at the thought, and went over to the bed, and the open suitcase on top of it. Someone had indeed brought her the clothes and the few possessions she had left with the Elite, and more importantly, weapons. She truly hated being unarmed, even for a short time, and it seemed that people had donated one or two of their spares with the knowledge that anything she had owned was with Zeke. So when she had opened the bag to get clothes after showering, she had found a small cache of weaponry there as well. It pleased her in an odd way, going over the weapons left to her, carefully and lovingly chosen and cared for by the owners and now given as a gift, even though it was true she could have replaced the ones left behind. But that would have taken time, and they had known it would make her uncomfortable, because each and every one of them would have felt just as naked unarmed. 

Shaking off thoughts that were just a little bit too warm and fuzzy for her liking, Azrael started unpacking, arming herself and hiding weapons in convenient niches in the bedroom and the adjoining bathroom, and leaving the rest in the suitcase with the clothes, which she placed in the closet. After all, she wouldn't be here all that long, so there was no need to hang up the clothing unless she cared about the wrinkles leaving them would create, which she didn't. 

Feeling content and _safe_ for the first time in a very long time, even if she still ached a bit, she curled up in a patch of sun that fell across the bed to take a short nap.   
  


_Notes: I'm going to be brief with the notes, because I hurt my neck this morning and I'm in a great deal of pain. This part really has more bad jokes then action, but I promise both the drama and the action will pick up in the next chapter. Excuse my minor obsession with lime Jell-O throughout this chapter; I was a bit tired._


	10. Full Tilt

Title: Pretty Lies 

Author: Hedge 

Spoilers: All the NW books, especially Huntress. 

Rating: PG or PG-13, for slight violence, implied sex, and language. 

Disclaimer: The universe this takes place in and any characters you recognize from the books belong to the lovely L.J. Smith. Azrael, Zeke, and the plot belong to me. Will and the Elite belong to my friend Wicked, and are on loan. 

Synopsis: The thing about being a spy is that almost no one knows whose side you're really on. This creates problems. 

****

****

****

**Part Ten: Full Tilt**

Aspen considered the drained body lying at his feet with a critical eye. Old and unattractive, but she had put up a relatively good fight, and she had been tasty. Unlike her son, a middle-aged man who helped her run this little corner store. His struggle had been the half-hearted one of someone who didn't really care about life anymore, and he had tasted stale. 

No wonder. The man had still lived with his mother, for crying out loud. 

Humming under his breath, he leaned back against the counter to wait. He had followed the little miss's admittedly limited trail to this tiny store, and he could stay here indefinitely until she showed up again, supping on whatever other customers came in both to keep them silent and to keep himself at full strength. With the beating she had taken, he would be able to kill the woman with a limited amount of fuss. 

Smiling his satisfaction, he lifted a pack of gum from the rack next to the cash register and prepared for the wait.   
  


Azrael rubbed her hands together, trying to warm them up, and reached up to tug the brim of her jacket's hood forward. It was risky to go out, perhaps, but she had been driving everyone, including herself insane just sitting around. Sitting still and having nothing to do wasn't something she had ever done often, and it wasn't something she was very good at. Within two days, she had been pacing incessantly. After a week of this, Keely had lost patience and decided that she should start doing household chores with some of the others. So for the past few days, Azrael had been cleaning, cooking, and running errands, while she waited for her fingers to mend enough for her to go back to the Elite and leave the job of 'envoy' to someone else. 

Right now, she was heading for the local corner store. What had originally been a trip for tissues for Claire Goddard, who was in bed with a bad cold, had turned into a full shopping trip when everyone and their soulmate had decided they also needed something 'while she was out'. 

"Cold?," someone said quietly, and Azrael glanced sideways at Hugh, the same young man who had escorted her to the infirmary when she had first come the sanctuary. She shrugged in response, and ducked her head to indicate that she didn't feel much like talking. And once again, she was amazed at the ease with which he took that silent request. Anyone else would have ignored it, made a second attempt, or felt compelled to make some sort of noise to fill the silence. But then again, she hadn't met any wakened Old Souls before him. Maybe the seemingly endless patience with people was a part of that. 

They arrived at the shop, and as Azrael pushed the front door open, the little bell attached to it jingled merrily. She opened her mouth to greet the little old lady who ran the place, but froze when she saw who waited in front of the counter. "Out, now," she snapped at Hugh, backing up rapidly herself, not because she thought she could avoid a fight but because it would be disastrous to be cornered inside the cluttered little store. She had a moment's warning before the brown-eyed vampire slammed into her midsection in a movement that would have been called a tackle if it hadn't been so agile, more like the pounce of a hunting cat then anything else. 

She didn't give him a chance to get a good hold on her, kicking and hitting almost wildly, more concerned with getting free then injuring him. Finally, something connected, and his arms loosened enough for her to squirm free and scramble to her feet. He climbed to her feet at a much slower pace, arrogance and grace in every line of his body and face, and she used the time to fumble a long, wooden knife out of it's sheath. She cursed inwardly at the clumsiness of her hands, two of her fingers still bound up so that they would heal. 

Her drawing a weapon only seemed to amuse him, and with a shrug, he removed his own weapon, a two-bladed knife that bore faint resemblance to the horns of a bull. It was a nasty piece of work, really, all black-stained iron with a leather-wrapped hilt. 

He feinted to her left, and she started to bring her blade up to block it before she recognized what he was doing and flung herself sideways to avoid the _real_ stab, to her unprotected right. She slashed at him when he was still recovering from that strike, more to stall for time and regain her balance then to actually hurt him. 

The man drew back, looking more wary now. She used the opening to glance back at Hugh, wanting to make it clear that she expected him to stay _out_ of the fight. She had to resist the urge to cheer when she saw that was exactly what he was doing, staying several body lengths back to give her room to move, and keeping her between him and the vampire so she didn't have to worry about him becoming Hugh, boy hostage. His usually calm expression was somewhat clouded, but not panicked, which both made her impressed with him and had the rather strange effect of calming her as well. 

She started to turn back at her opponent, and therefore a kick that would have snapped her neck only connected a glancing blow to her jaw. All the same, it _hurt_, and it sent her sprawling on the sidewalk, knocking the breath from her lungs and stunning her. Her head swam; she couldn't concentrate or breath properly. It was only for a moment, but she knew enough to know that a lost moment in a fight like this could get a person killed. _Was_ going to get her killed. 

Which was when someone's sneaker hit the vampire in the head, soon followed by the other shoe. Someone was throwing their _shoes_ at a Night World bounty hunter? 

No matter how unconventional, however, the tactic was working. The bounty hunter was distracted, and Azrael used that to make a rather desperate move from her sitting position. She lashed out with both feet, aiming for his right leg. Heavy boots connected solidly with his knee, and the joint made a muffled, wet sound as it broke. With a cry of rage and pain, the man topped over, loosing his balance when he lost the use of one of his legs. It would heal with typical vampire quickness, of course, but it would keep him down long enough for her purposes. Once he had six inches of wooden knife in his chest, he wasn't going to be doing a lot of fighting. 

She climbed to her feet slowly, a small hiss of pain passing her lips. And she probably wasn't even feeling the whole of the blow to her jaw at this point... The adrenaline was dulling the pain. She shifted her grip on the blade, and took as unsteady step towards the vampire. He was breathing hard, expression slightly contorted, but his eyes were focused and almost calculating. He was planning something, and she braced herself, figuring he was going to attempt a last-ditch effort something like her own, aiming for the legs or body. 

But when he did make his move, turning swiftly onto his side and kicking at her with his uninjured leg, it hit her hand, the one grasping the knife. The blade was knocked from her grasp, and went skittering across the pavement behind her. Before she could recover it, he had swept that same leg around, knocking her feet out from under her. Using the outer wall of the grocery store as a support, he lurched to his feet, and started down the street and away from Azrael as fast as his broken leg would carry him. It was actually a pretty respectable speed, all things considered, but she knew she could catch him. First, however, she needed to recover her knife. Hard to kill him without it. 

She turned, to find Hugh already scooping the weapon up off the ground. He moved back towards her, and frowned faintly, making a vague motion towards her face. "Are you ok?" 

"I've been better," Azrael replied with a shrug. She her hand out, palm up. "Can I please have my knife back now?" She looked over her shoulder once, making sure that the vampire wasn't quite out of sight yet, then turned her attention back to Hugh. 

He frowned, no doubt knowing what she intended to do with the weapon once he gave it back, but to his credit he didn't ask if it was necessary that she go after the bounty hunter. Instead, he held out the knife. Blade first, which went against the basic rules of handling a knife, but she wasn't about to complain, considering how cooperative he had been so far. Instead, she reached past the blade to grip the hilt... 

...And touched his hand. 

A spark that started at her fingers and traveled up her arm, somewhere between pleasant and painful. A feeling like her skin was moving of its own accord, twitching in a mad attempt to escape her bones. A crackling like lightning before a summer storm. A connection. And a word supplied by a mind that was not her own. 

_ Soulmates._

She jerked her hand, and the knife, away, and the connection was broken as quickly as it had been made. Distantly she felt a sort of regret, as though she had cut short something wondrous, but mostly she felt confused. Disoriented, unfocused, and unable to think. 

It was dangerous to go after the vampire in that condition. However, she somehow felt that it would be more dangerous to remain standing there with an entirely baffling human boy, and the even more baffling word he had supplied her with. It was better that she go. At least until the emotional tilt-a-whirl in her head settled down a bit. 

So without a word, she turned and headed down the street at a trot. Her quarry was out of sight, but as slow as he would be traveling, she wouldn't have trouble catching up. She didn't look back, and she tried not to think about what had happened, for that just make the turmoil deepen. Instead, she bent her mind to the task of finding the man who had tried to kill her.   
  


She had found the vipers' nest. So to speak. 

It had taken her a couple blocks to calm down, and a couple more to find the vampire, just as he was entering the Hayward BART station. It was while she was on the train, waiting for him to get off and go somewhere more isolated, where her killing him wouldn't cause so much of a stir, that an idea occurred to her. It was obviously no coincidence that the same vampire who had kidnapped her for Zeke had attacked her today. That meant that he was probably heading back to report to Zeke, which in turn meant that she could follow him to wherever the leader of the Night World was holed up at the moment. 

It had not been an easy feat, following a vampire without being detected. But she had been trained by the best. Now she was seated on a bench at the bus stop, and old newspaper hiding her face and torso from view. 

She was in the Tenderloins of San Francisco. Not the best neighborhood in the city, it was very close to deserving the word 'slum'. The bench she was on and the buildings were covered in graffiti and less savory things. People begged for change at every street corner. The little convenience stores sold items such as glow-in-the-dark rosaries and cheap velvet paintings of Elvis and Jesus along with the usual things. 

None of it matted. What matted was the boarded up building across the way from her. It was nothing special, to most people. Stained gray stone made up the walls. The lower windows were covered with scrap wood, and the upper windows were almost all broken, jagged pieces of glass still clinging to the frames. A bum snoozed under a tattered rag that had once been a blanket in front of the door. He hadn't even stirred when the vampire she had been following stepped over him to enter the building. 

Azrael smiled in fierce satisfaction. She'd get back to Daybreak, report to Will, and they would hit it tonight. Sure, her fingers weren't completely healed, and her jaw felt pretty battered, but there wasn't a chance in hell that she was going to miss out on this. 

"Gotcha, bastard," she whispered, almost too quietly to hear. When the next buss rumbled up to the bench in a puff of exhaust fumes, she got on, letting it carry her back in the direction of BART.   
  


_Notes: I got stuck halfway through this, so it took me a couple weeks to toss it up. Sorry folks. As compensation, this chapter has a lot of action in it, and a lot of important things happening, because this fic is starting to draw to a close._

_ The reason I got stuck? I _hate_ writing action sequences. Unfortunately, for the types of stories I write, they seem to be needed. I'd be much happier writing about, say, political maneuvering in the Night World Council, with lots and lots of dialogue._

_ Anyways, enough of that. Many thanks to the usual people, and those who reviewed. Anaita, I hope this answers your question about the whole Will/Az/Hugh thing. If not... Let's just say that Will and Azrael as a couple is highly unlikely. They'd murder eachother within weeks, if not sooner. And that would be bad._


	11. Doomed and Insane

Title: Pretty Lies 

Author: Hedge 

Spoilers: All the NW books, especially Huntress. 

Rating: PG or PG-13, for slight violence, implied sex, and language. 

Disclaimer: The universe this takes place in and any characters you recognize from the books belong to the lovely L.J. Smith. Azrael, Zeke, and the plot belong to me. Will and the Elite belong to my friend Wicked, and are on loan. 

Synopsis: The thing about being a spy is that almost no one knows whose side you're really on. This creates problems. 

  


**Part Eleven: Doomed and Insane**

"And you're sure you weren't followed?," Zeke asked again, his gaze fixed on the bounty hunter in front of him. 

"I'm _sure_. The witch was distracted when I left. No doubt fussing over the vermin she was with." Aspen snorted in disgust, then added, "She's not a bloodhound, and I know how to cover my tracks. No way she could have followed me once I was out of sight." 

Zeke's temper, always simmering just below the surface these days, boiled for a moment at Aspen's words. "Very well." His voice was tight with controlled rage. "Go get someone to properly set that knee. You'll be going after her again as soon as you've healed. Recruit someone else if you need to. I don't care what you do, just see that Azrael Dirae is dead soon." He turned towards the room's exit, feeling the need to get away from the incompetent idiot before him. 

"You want me to go after her? _Again_? _Why_? She's no threat to us, not anymore..." 

His protests fell silent when Zeke turned a glare on him that would have stopped an angry rhinoceros, mid-charge. As it was, it made Aspen's heart skip a beat or three. When he had come to work for Zeke on this job, the man hadn't scared him in the least, but that had changed dramatically. 

Then again, when he had first started working for him, the leader of the Night World had at least _pretended_ to be sane.   
  


It was well into the afternoon by time Azrael got back to the Daybreak sanctuary. BART was running on a weekend schedule, so it took a while to catch a train, and the mob of Raiders fans that had gotten on in Oakland after a game hadn't made traveling any easier. 

She had called the safhouse from the payphones at the Hayward station, both to inform them that she was still among the living, and to ask them to contact Will. As it turned out, he was already there. They had called him when Hugh had returned without her. 

Hugh. Now there was a subject she really didn't want to think on too closely at the moment. 

She took a cab from the station, and had the cabby stop a few blocks away, then walked the rest of the distance. Couldn't be too careful, after all. Even a taxi driver knowing about the safehouse's location would be a security breech, if the wrong person got a hold of him. 

She was ushered into the conference room almost immediately, after the shape-shifter who greeted her had ascertained that she didn't need to see a healer first. There, she found Will and a pretty red-haired vampire. From the hint of red on Will's ears and the way the woman was moving her hands to emphasize what she was saying, Azrael could guess that she was flirting. 

What on _earth_ had she said to make a vampire older then indoor plumbing blush? 

Will caught sight of Azrael over the woman's shoulder, and nodded to her before turning back to his companion. "Thank you for keeping me company, Soraia. However, it seems that my colleague is here, and I really need to have a talk with her." 

Taking the hint, Soraia rose to her feet and moved towards the door. She winked at Azrael as she left, hazel eyes glowing with amusement and no little amount of mischief. 

"What where you two talking about?" 

Will glared at her, and she chuckled in response. "Alright, forget I asked." 

That got a snort out of the vampire, and he waited until she had taken a seat next to him before speaking again, "I was told you went after the vampire who attacked you." 

"Mmm-hmm." 

"Well?" 

"Well what?" 

"Is he dead?" 

"Nope." 

"Ah. Why is he not dead?" 

"Because I thought it would be a better idea to track him back to where Zeke is holed up." 

"Good girl. Did it work?" 

"Do you think I'd be this cheerful if it hadn't worked?" 

"You have a point. Call the others together. It's time to go hunting."   
  


The meeting bore an eerie resemblance to the one that Azrael had walked in on after escaping Zeke, except that it was a great deal more cheerful. The Elite were always happy when they had a chance to kill things, and Daybreak, while nowhere near as violent as their newfound allies, seemed to be looking forward to the chance to repay what had been done to Morgead. Another difference was that Morgead himself was in attendance this time, though looking rather grumpy since he and Jez had lost the argument as to whether or not they could go. 

All of the people gathered around were fighters, as many of them as could be spared on such short notice. All of the Elite in the Bay Area, whether or not they had been working on other projects, and a dozen Daybreakers, those who weren't needed to guard the safehouse. That made about forty people all told. 

The plan they turned out was a study in simplicity, which was probably a good thing. Complicated plans went awry easier. About half of the group would block the building's exits, making sure that none of Zeke's people escaped. The other half would go into the building, through any and all entrances available to them, and either kill those inside or, more likely, flush them out to those waiting outside. Azrael was part of the first group, which was led by Storm. Will would be leading the group going into the building. 

She went directly from the meeting to the room where she was staying. The Elite had come already armed and ready, but she didn't waltz around with her full arsenal on a daily basis. Like the Daybreak fighters, she needed to get suited up. 

She was sitting on the bed lacing up one of her boots when Hugh found her. Her door was open, and even without looking up or hearing his quiet tap on the doorframe she knew that he was standing there. She could _feel_ him, even from half a dozen feet away. 

She looked up only after she had finished with her shoe, and met his clear gray eyes. "Might as well come in." 

He took a couple steps into the room, solemn gaze not leaving her face, "We need to talk." 

Azrael felt a rueful smile twist her lips as she stood, "About what happened earlier? I know. But not now." He started to say something, and she held up a hand to silence him. "I might not live the night," she explained quietly, "Better to leave things as they are until we know that there's going to be something to talk about." 

He looked troubled, but she had the idea it was more over the mention of her dying then in response to the fact that she didn't want to talk. After a moment, he nodded. "Alright. I understand." 

"I knew you would," she replied, and started to leave. She stopped short of the door when he caught her arm in a gentle, firm grip. When she gave him a questioning look, he simply smiled and leaned over to brush his lips against hers in a quick kiss. 

"Be safe." 

Her heart did a strange little skip, and her mouth tingled. All the same, she managed to respond to his last comment. "I'll do my best." He let go of her arm, and she left the room. 

The hit team was gathering in the foyer near the door, making things very crowded. Storm glanced up as Azrael joined them. "I'm putting you in charge of the North side of the building, and the people stationed there. I have the South, Ceyx and Kaltes are in the West, and there's a Daybreak vampire, Soraia, in the East. We'll all be in touch with eachother, and with Will and Veridian inside, using these." She held out a little microphone that clipped on to the cartilage of the ear, and Azrael accepted it. 

Storm continued to regard her even after she had clipped the microphone on. After a moment, the vampire shook her head, the light catching in the gray streaks of her hair and turning them pale silver. "You seem a bit off, Az. You ok?" 

Azrael considered the other Elite member silently, before she let out a breathless little laugh. "Nope. Doomed and insane, in fact." 

Storm was saved from replying by Will's order to move out.   
  


Will watched the building across the street from him, cloaked in the shadows of a convenient alley. He couldn't see the rest of the Elite or the Daybreakers who had come with them. Nor could he feel them telepathically, as they had started blocking themselves on the way over. He _could_ hear them if he focused, but it was only because he knew what to listen for. 

All the same, he felt the need to double check. Voice low, he spoke into his little clip-on microphone, "Everyone in position?" 

Silence. Then Storm's voice, also pitched soft, "Yes." 

"_Morituri nolumus mori._" That was Kaltes, sounding far too cheerful. Ceyx's resigned sigh followed, and Will stifled a groan. He never should have let her read Terry Pratchett. 

"Do I want to know?" Veridian's voice was the faintest. She and her partner were leading the part of Will's team that was attacking from the back, and she was hidden somewhere near the rear of the building, with Azrael's group. 

As if on cue, the witch added, "We're ready when you are, boss." 

There was another moment of quiet, and Will tensed. Then Soraia's irritated voice came over the line, "Is this stupid thing even on? Yeah, my group's in position." 

"Alright," Will said, speaking to all of them, "You all know your jobs. Get going, people." 

"Once more into the breech, dear friends," Azrael muttered, and Will snorted in agreement as he moved out of the shadows and across the street.   
  


_Notes: Chapter Eleven, done in a short amount of time to make up for the fact that Ten took forever. Hope you're all happy with it._

_ Veridian and Storm make another appearance, they belong to Wicked. Soraia belongs to herself; she's my writing buddy who somehow infiltrated my fic. Then again, I did the same to her, so I suppose I can't complain. If you wish to see my fan fictional counterpart, go check out _Tease II: Burned _by her. Hell, check it out even if you don't want to see my counterpart._

_ There is a Terry Pratchett quote in here. It is clearly marked. It does not belong to me._

_ Thanks to those of you who reviewed, and to anyone who read but didn't review. Yes, Soraia, you were right, and thank you for the kind words, plot-less. I decided not to make the whole Azrael/Hugh thing _too_ angst-filled, since I really couldn't think of a real reason for it despite their differences._


	12. Triumph

Title: Pretty Lies 

Author: Hedge 

Spoilers: All the NW books, especially Huntress. 

Rating: PG or PG-13, for slight violence, implied sex, and language. 

Disclaimer: The universe this takes place in and any characters you recognize from the books belong to the lovely L.J. Smith. Azrael, Zeke, and the plot belong to me. Will and the Elite belong to my friend Wicked, and are on loan. 

Synopsis: The thing about being a spy is that almost no one knows whose side you're really on. This creates problems.   
  


**Part Twelve: Triumph**

  


Chaos. 

That was the only word to describe the result of maybe a dozen Elite and half that many Daybreakers entering Zeke's hideaway unannounced. There was a moment of surprised stillness from both sides. Then witchfire flared, fur and feathers came forth as human guises were left behind, and canines sharpened while eyes silvered. The metallic scent of spilled blood filled the air, soon joined by the choking smell of burning things. The sounds of ripping flesh, snarls, and gunfire were followed by the cries of the injured and dieing. It was a battle, pure and simple. Will could hear the sounds faintly echoed outside the walls of the building, as the first wave of those trying to escape were ambushed. 

Zeke's people were more numerous. They were in a place they had been able to familiarize themselves with, and they had ample training. They were still going to lose. 

Very few people pissed off the Elite and lived long to tell about it. Zeke had survived longer then most. And it was time that ended. 

Will was going to make sure of it. That was why he was prowling through the building, only killing those who got in his way, rather then joining in the slaughter taking place. He wanted to make _sure_ that someone got Zeke's head on a pike. Figuratively or literally, it didn't really matter. 

He slid around the edge of a skirmish on the fifth floor, keeping to the walls. A snarl alerted him to the fact that the corner he was approaching wasn't empty, but it hardly mattered. The half-changed shape-shifter was dead before she had fully emerged from the shadows. 

He crouched down, retrieving his knife and making sure that the 'shifter was no longer among the living. The door, as effectively hidden in the shadows as the 'shifter had been, caught his attention. He almost let his gaze pass over it, since there was no light showing around the edges to reveal that anyone was inside. Then he caught a scent, familiar only because he had found it on Azrael every so often when she reported to him. 

The lock on the door broke easily, if not exactly quietly. That was fine; he wasn't trying to be subtle. He pushed the door open, and waited a moment before stepping inside. 

Zeke stood near one of the large windows. Weak light came through the stained panels, but that was enough to see by, especially for someone who had night vision that would make a cat go green with envy. 

He turned towards Will, and like those of a cat, his eyes seemed to catch and reflect the light coming from the open door. He smiled quickly, a flash of white in the darkness. "Parker."   
  


Kaltes wiped the back of her hand across her forehead, and grinned at the healer assigned to her unit as he finished mending a long set of claw marks on her hip. The panther who had given her them lay in a dark heap of fur near a trashcan. Maybe she would have it dyed pink and made into a nice rug for Will. An early Christmas present, or something. 

She stretched out her newly-healed limb, then moved back to her position, slinging a friendly arm around Ceyx's shoulders. They would hear the next attackers before they saw them, and that would give them enough time to get ready. For now, they could goof off to their heart's content. "Having fun?" 

He glanced sideways at her, and shook his head wryly, "No." 

"Party-pooper," Kaltes said, and mock-pouted at him. He only snorted and shook his head again. 

"If I close my eyes and wish really hard, will you disappear?" 

"Well, yes... Your eyes will be closed." 

"Brat." 

"Snob." 

"Twit." 

"Bore..." She trailed off, and straitened, letting her arm drop from his shoulders. "Did you hear that?" 

"Yes," he replied, before raising his voice enough that the rest of the group could hear, "We have company." 

The comment resulted in instant order. Those fiddling with weapons or talking softly got into position, and the healer finished working on his last patient before falling back a little. As a requirement, he was good in a fight, but too valuable to risk him getting taken out by a desperate lunge or last sweep of claws from a dieing opponent. 

All of them survived that rush of fleeing, angry Night Worlders, though much patching up was required. The next one, however, came too close on the heels of the one before it, and they lost two Elite members. One of them was Ceyx. That hit Kaltes like a punch to the gut, but with the ease of long practice, she turned most of her grief aside, for the time being. Just the same, it was good that they had some time before the next fight, or she might have been distracted enough to slip up, and join her partner on the ground. 

It was shaping up to be a very long night indeed. Even as one of the Elite's gentler members, Kaltes was used to pain and the deaths of people she cared about. It was part of the line of work. Taking out the bad guys came with its own unique set of occupational hazards. She knew that. But she couldn't help but wonder if the price paid for tonight's hunt would be too great.   
  


Aspen dropped out of a half-open window at the back of the building. He winced, and took a moment to recover before continuing his escape. His breath came out in shallow pants, and he used one of his hands to try to slow the bleeding from a deep cut on his side. He couldn't stop running, not yet. He was out of the building, unlike so many others, but he couldn't stop or even slow down until he was far, far away. He wasn't foolish enough to think he was safe yet. 

Silence. He allowed himself to heave a relieved sigh as he made it into one of the little alleyways that littered the area around this building. He had managed to avoid them. It looked like he was safe after all. 

Which was when a slender arm slid around his neck from behind, an almost gentle grip until the arm tightened and jerked him backwards. A familiar voice spoke into his ear, thick with triumph. "Say good night, Gracie." 

The wooden knife that punched through his chest and into his heart effectively kept him from responding.   
  


"Zeke," Will replied pleasantly, reaching up to turn off his headset before clasping his hands behind his back. Incidentally, it also placed his weapon within reach, but Zeke didn't need to know that. "How have you been?" 

"Not too shabby. Finding out that my girlfriend was a spy was kind of disappointing, but I felt better after I got to use her as a punching bag." That made Will's temper simmer for a moment, but he didn't rise to the bait. 

Zeke was still smiling, smug and far too confidant. Which either meant he had something up his sleeve, or he was underestimating the competition. Or both. _And much as I would have liked to give him a long, drawn-out death, it isn't worth dawdling over and possibly getting surprised. After all, it would be rather embarrassing if a bottom-feeder like Zeke managed to kill me. Storm and Azrael would never let me live it down. Vicious, vicious ladies._ Will sighed at the unwelcome thought, but had to acknowledge the truth in it. 

So, when Zeke moved closer and fell into a fighting stance, Will didn't follow. Instead, he unclasped his hands, grasped the crossbow hidden on his back, and swung it around to face Zeke. The vampire's surprised look had barely registered before the first bolt hit him in the throat. The second found his heart, and a minute later, there was nothing to show that the Night World leader had been there except a dry and withered husk that only faintly resembled Zeke. 

He heard a quiet step at the door to the room, but didn't look up. He could tell who it was. 

"Why is it that they always look so startled when one of the good guys does something dirty and underhanded?," Veridian asked from behind him, her voice amused. 

He matched her tone, "Are we good guys now?" 

Her shrug was practically audible, "I suppose that depends on who you ask. I don't imagine Zeke's people think too highly of us at this point." 

When he didn't answer except to nod, she continued. "The fighting is pretty much done with. Inside, anyway. Storm says that they're taking care of some stragglers out there still. Once they're finished... We have casualties. We'll have people to move, and we'll have to clean this place up." Which entitled disposing of bodies and anything else that someone might accidentally stumble upon. 

Will grimaced, and gave Zeke's body a little kick before turning to Veridian. He slung the arm that wasn't occupied with the crossbow around her shoulders, and started out of the little room, "Wonderful. Clean-up. My favorite part. Just one thing." 

"What?" 

"I don't do windows."   
  


Azrael looked down at the cup of coffee nestled in her hands, and tried to stay awake. It wasn't the first time she had seen the wrong side of dawn. Heck, it wasn't even the first time she had seen the wrong side of dawn after a night of fighting, running about, and playing gopher to the healers in the aftermath. But it had been a long, hard day, and every bruise and scrape she had was aching as if it were a killing blow. They were at the Elite headquarters, since it had been decided that it would be much simpler to bring the wounded there, rather then carting them all across the bridge and to the sanctuary in Hayward. 

All she wanted to do was go home and sleep. 

Home? Now, that was strange. When had she started thinking of the Daybreak sanctuary as _home_? She hadn't been there _that_ long, and if she was going to think of anywhere as home, it should have been with the Elite. _Not_ Daybreak. 

After a moment, she had to admit that it wasn't so much the place that felt like home, as the people. One person in particular, in fact. 

She could feel her cheeks flame at the thought. Maybe it would be wise not to examine that when her emotions were scrambled from the odd mixture of adrenaline, exhaustion, and the contradictory blend of triumph and grief that came from winning, yet seeing so many familiar faces among the dead. 

For once, mental discipline failed completely, and her mind turned towards the subject of Hugh despite her best efforts. 

She loved him. There was no denying that, as strange as it was. She wasn't at all the sort to fall in love with a person in under two weeks' time, but there it was. Then again, from what she had heard about the soulmate principle, it usually didn't give you much of a choice in the matter, and all that she had witnessed supported that claim. 

Fine. So she loved him. That didn't really solve any problems though, and it created a few more of its own. 

She had spoken briefly with one of the Daybreakers while they were both resting from their duties as healers' helpers, and she had been told it had been decided that the Bay Area was no longer safe for the Wild Power and those close to her. As soon as everyone who lived at the sanctuary was in fit condition to travel, they were moving on, probably to Las Vegas. 

And that formed a predicament. Her first loyalty was to the Elite, and if she was perfectly honest, she wasn't willing to leave them. Which meant she either lived without her soulmate, in one of the cities where the Elite had a stronghold, or she went off to Las Vegas and lived Daybreak. And while the Daybreakers seemed nice enough, they weren't what she wanted. She wanted the Elite. 

There had to be a better way, another option. But if there was, she just wasn't seeing it right now. 

"You're still here?" 

Azrael looked up to see who had addressed her, and found herself looking at the red-haired woman who had made Will blush earlier that day. _What was her name...? Soraia? Yes, that was it. _Her hazel eyes were suspiciously free of twinkle or humor, but Azrael doubted that anyone was really much in the joking mood right now. "Last I checked." 

Soraia snorted, and for a moment, the twinkle returned to her gaze. "Come on. I'm heading back, I might as well take you with me." 

Azrael didn't object, and they were out the door and on the road almost before she knew what was happening. The bridge was, for once, free of traffic, owing no doubt to the early hour. They passed half the trip in without speaking, and she once against lapsed into her thoughts, looking at the situation from every angle she could thing of, and finding it less clear but a great deal more depressing every time she did so. Part of that, she knew, was that she was tired. 

When Soraia broke the silence at a stoplight, it was only to ask quietly if she was alright. And for some reason, Azrael found herself talking. Maybe it was something about the other woman, something the encouraged confidences, or maybe she just really needed to talk the situation over with someone else. Whatever it was, she told all in as calm a voice as she could managed, and finished right as they pulled up in front of the sanctuary. 

Soraia turned off the engine, and leaned back in her seat, expression thoughtful. The silence stretched, and Azrael found herself uncomfortably aware of the fact she had just told something very personal to a stranger. What was wrong with her? Was she truly that exhausted? 

When the other woman spoke, her voice was distant, as though her mind was on something other then the words she was speaking, "Any idea what you're going to do?" 

"None. I'm so tired I can't even think strait, much less make any life-altering decisions." 

She shook her head, as though clearing it, then gave Azrael a considering once-over, "I'll say. Go sleep. Maybe things will be clearer in the morning." 

"Since I doubt I can get any more muddled, I'd say there's a good chance," Azrael replied, with a faint smile. She climbed out of the car, and headed towards the house. Soraia remained where she was for a few minutes longer, before sighing and following the witch inside. 

_Notes: Just shoot me. Please. Someone._

_ First of all, I'd like to apologize for taking so damn long on this installment. I re-wrote it at least twice, and I still don't exactly like it. I got so frustrated with the fight scene between Will and Zeke that I ended up just having Will shoot him. At one point, I even had a Princess Bride parody in here._

_ But that doesn't really matter. What matters is that I'm a lazy bum who went almost a month between updates. Shame on me. If it's any comfort, this part is about a page longer then usual, and you get everything from action to humor to fluff._

_ Chances are, you already know by now what characters belong to who, and who I want to thank, so I won't make a long Author's Note even longer. Happy April Fool's, everyone._


	13. Trust

Title: Pretty Lies 

Author: Hedge 

Spoilers: All the NW books, especially Huntress. 

Rating: PG or PG-13, for slight violence, implied sex, and language. 

Disclaimer: The universe this takes place in and any characters you recognize from the books belong to the lovely L.J. Smith. Azrael, Zeke, and the plot belong to me. Will and the Elite belong to my friend Wicked, and are on loan. 

Synopsis: The thing about being a spy is that almost no one knows whose side you're really on. This creates problems. 

**Part Thirteen: Trust**

  


As it turned out, Azrael didn't see Hugh the next day. He was out on assignment somewhere, no doubt something to do with the upcoming move, and when she woke around noon, there was a message from Will waiting for her. It was probably just as well, since sleep had left her more clear-headed but no closer to a decision then she had been the previous night. 

The meeting place suggested was a nearby park. It was nice outside, brisk but sunny, so she walked instead of driving and within fifteen minutes she was there. She found Will by the pond, sitting on a bench and feeding bread to the ducks, who clustered near the bank and begged shamelessly. Azrael had to smile at the picture they made, so unlike the bloodshed of the previous night. When he saw her approaching, Will shook the last crumbs out of the bag and crumpled it up, before scooting over on the bench to make room for her. 

She took a seat next to him, and took a moment to enjoy the feel of the sun, and the light breeze that tugged at her jacket and hair. He didn't speak until she turned her face towards him, and cocked a brow to show she was ready. 

"I received a call from a woman named Soraia this morning." 

Azrael flinched, and tried not to show it. She entertained the notion of doing something violent to the Daybreak vampire when she returned to the sanctuary, but quickly discarded the idea. It was her own fault for breaking down in the first place, and for not foreseeing that this would happen. She had found that the Daybreakers did have there devious moments, and that they were for the most part rather enthusiastic when it came to the subject of soulmates. 

When it became clear that she wasn't going to respond, Will sighed. He ran a hand through his hair, and fixed sharp, pale blue eyes on her face. "You know," he said tartly, sounding a little irritated, "This is just like you. You've always made things more complicated then they need to be." 

She bolted upright in her seat, snapping her gaze towards him. That had not been what she expected. "And just what is that supposed to mean?," she demanded, and edge to her voice that made the ducks start a little and skirt away from the pair. 

"You make problems more complex then they need to be, Az," Will replied, making an obvious effort to gentle his tone, "This soulmate thing is just the most recent incident." Azrael found herself quieting to listen to that calm, blunt voice in spite of her indignation. Listening to Will was second nature, after all, and he had always been able to pacify her with words, even in the worst of moods. "After all, it's not like you're the first Elite member to find a soulmate outside of the group. You're not even the first one to find an outside soulmate who lives a great distance away, and many of them find ways to deal with it. Storm and her soulmate—." 

"Storm and Mace turn bickering into an artform," she interupted, stirring a little, "To each there own, and all, but I don't want to spend half my time feeling homocidal towards my other half." 

Will's lips twitched, almost against his bidding, to form a small smile. "Alright, bad example." He sighed again. "Look, no matter what I say, you're going to be able to come up with an argument. You're too clever for your own good, and you're going to end up talking yourself out of something wonderful." He controlled his features quickly, but she hadn't missed the sad, almost wistful look that had lurked about his eyes and mouth for a moment. She pretended she had, knowing that he'd rather not show that side of himself to her, or anyone else. "Trust someone who knows, and remember what I was compelled to do simply because of the _memory_ of my soulmate." 

"Memories can be more comfortable then reality, sometimes," she muttered rudely. 

"Like I said, I can't _make_ you see reason," Will said, ignoring her comment. Azrael thought that he was putting this in a rather uncomplimentary way, but he continued before she could voice the notion. "However, I can and will offer you a solution." 

He paused, reconsidered, and then corrected himself. "Actually, I don't have an offer. I have an order. An assignment, in fact." 

She couldn't stop staring at him, wondering where he was going with this. After a moment, she managed, "If you're going to order me to stop being difficult and settle down to a white-picket-fence, happy-go-luck dream life with my soulmate, I'm afraid I'll have to tell you to stick your assignment where the sun doesn't shine." 

"Indeed." Will's small smile had suddenly bloomed into a full, highly annoying grin. Azrael stirred in her seat again, frowning. 

"Yes. And where do you get off judging _my_ little neurotic quirks? So I make things complicated, so what? At least I try to plan things beyond who I'm going to kill next..." She stopped, since her ire seemed to be doing nothing but amusing him further. 

The grin remained in place for a moment longer, before he once again became serious. "May I finish now?" 

Azrael glared at him for a moment, but she couldn't maintain the expression. She waved a hand to indicate that he could speak. 

"Thank you," he said dryly. "Originally, I meant for the alliance with Daybreak to be a short-term thing. We'd get to know eachother, rescue the damsel, kill the bad guys, and go our separate ways. But things didn't turn out as I had planned. Somewhere along the way, our organizations became intertwined in a way that would be hard, if not impossible to undo." 

She felt a moment's worth of childish satisfaction that he hadn't gotten what he wanted. 

"Thierry and I have talked it over, and we've decided that we want a more solid, permanent alliance between our two organizations. Not a complete melding, mind you, just and alliance. In a lot of ways, our people, our ideals, and out goals are just too different. We're more vicious than they are, even their fighters, and we've always been willing to use means that are less than admirable to meet our ends, when the situation called for it. But I'm getting off-topic." 

He stole a quick glance at her face, and continued only when he saw that he still had her attention. "If we're going to have a permanent arrangement, we're going to need a permanent go-between. Someone on hand in Las Vegas, who can speak for the Elite on matters that don't require my seal of approval, and be in contact with me for things that do. Obviously, I can't do it myself, since we might as well post a big neon sign to the Council saying 'here's everyone you need to eliminate to have complete control again, come and get us'. Me, Jezebel, Thierry... It would be a security nightmare." 

"Then I considered Storm, but that's no good either. She's neither a patient nor a peaceful woman, and she doesn't suffer stupid people willingly. Whoever I choose is going to have to deal with the overly-sweet idealists and those who don't trust us because of who we are and what we've done, along with those Daybreakers who are genuinely decent people. Storm couldn't do that, and it's usually considered _un_diplomatic if your _diplomat_ kills one of your allies." 

"I considered and discarded several of the others for various reasons, and finally I came to you. You've been spending time with Daybreak, and while I wouldn't exactly say you have a cool head, you _do_ know how to control your emotions, and when to do so. You know how to read people, and they can rarely tell what you're really feeling unless you let them. You wouldn't have survived so long as a spy if you didn't have those skills." He smirked suddenly, and added slyly, "And _someone_ has spread a slightly glorified version of your oh-so-valiant deeds and woefully tragic past through the Daybreak grapevine, so any prejudices concerning the Elite are less likely to touch you. In fact, I'm afraid you've become a bit of a hero." 

Azrael gaped at him, and even to the casual observer it would have been obvious that the witch was silently sputtering. "You didn't," she managed, after a moment or two. 

"Since when do _I_ have access to the Daybreak information network?," Will asked pointedly. "No, it wasn't me. Actually, I suspect it was Thierry. The man is more of a political mastermind than anyone gives him credit for. In one move, he's shown his people they're not alone in risking themselves to protect the humans, made it so that most of Daybreak will simply adore you... And given them one more hero to look to. People need heroes in a war, Az, and make no mistake, we're in one now. The Millennium Battle might be the main event, but this fight has been going on for much longer than a lot of people think. Daybreak has a great many people to look up to though, so don't worry about becoming some untouchable idol worshiped by all. But you lasted two years as a spy inside the core of the Council, and came out alive and intact. That counts for something, especially to those putting themselves in the same situation. Daybreak has its own spies, who have probably seen their colleagues caught and killed a few too many times. This shows them that it doesn't always end that way." 

She was silent for a time, while she allowed that information to sink in. Then she gave a resigned sigh, lips twisting into a wry smile, "As long as I don't have to sign any autographs or write a memoir." Her face dissolved into a frown again, and she shook her head slowly, "But Will, that still doesn't address the problem. I'll still be alone with Daybreak, away from the Elite. I get along fine with them, by I'm not _one_ of them. Everything they think, everything they believe in... It's different than the way I see things. Sometimes only in minor ways, but sometimes our ideas are so dramatically different that I can't even try to understand things from their viewpoint. I've spent two years solely with people who aren't like me in the least. Order whatever you like, but I won't do that again, not ever. I can't be that isolated anymore." 

"Is that your only complaint about this plan? That you won't be with the Elite?" There was something gleeful about the gleam in his eyes that made her instantly suspicious. 

"Yes," she answered carefully. 

"And if that problem were eliminated, you would agree to this assignment?" 

Her suspicion grew, "Probably." 

Will smiled brightly in a way that made her go from suspicious to downright nervous. "Well then, it's all settled. That was the other part of the assignment. Since we're allying ourselves with Daybreak, and there's no branch of the Elite in Las Vegas, the very _center_ of Daybreak, you get to start one up, and lead it. I'll send some people with you of course. Kaltes, maybe. Though that's likely to make your job harder, rather then easier." He shrugged, "We'll sit down and talk about details later." 

Azrael stared at him blankly. "You just don't give up, do you?," she asked finally. 

"No," he answered, briefly favoring her with a smug smile.   
  


Will glanced sideways at Azrael. She had been silent for some time, and she wasn't paying attention to him. Her expression was thoughtful and inward-turned. He had the feeling that she was considering something, weighing something... And he was almost certain that she wasn't deciding whether or not to take the assignment. He had already cleared up all her doubts on that front. In fact, there was only one thing she could be contemplating so earnestly. 

His attention was drawn to her again when she sighed, and stood. She shook her hair out of her face and glanced at her watch, then at him. But still, she said nothing. 

"What are you going to do?," he asked quietly. He wasn't talking about the assignment. He was talking about her soulmate, and they both knew it. 

She smiled then, with a sort of warmth that he didn't remember seeing often on her face. "I'm going to trust someone who knows." 

He felt something warm and moist brush against his cheek, and he started in surprise. She was already out of sight behind a stand of trees when he realized she had kissed him. 

"Idiot," he muttered to the now absent witch, but he was smiling all the same. She would be fine.   
  


_Notes: Rhia's been a bad, bad girl. Another month between installments. However, good news comes with that. First, because this chapter was longer than I thought it would be, you'll be getting one more chapter then I expected. Second, that last chapter is almost done, though I know it's going to need a lot in the way of proofreading, as it was written in the wee hours of the morning._

_This chapter is mostly dialogue. Talky talky talky. Personally, I like that, but if you don't, I apologize. It's also a little longer then usual, which I _know_ you can't be complaining about._

_Will and Storm belong to Wicked. Soraia belongs to herself. Mace belongs to Gift, and was used without permission, since he was only mentioned in passing and because she's away on a trip and I couldn't ask her. Oops._

_Many thanks to everyone who's been reviewing. If it weren't for you, this story would have died long ago._


	14. Endings and Beginnings

Title: Pretty Lies 

Author: Hedge 

Spoilers: All the NW books, especially Huntress. 

Rating: PG or PG-13, for slight violence, implied sex, and language. 

Disclaimer: The universe this takes place in and any characters you recognize from the books belong to the lovely L.J. Smith. Azrael, Zeke, and the plot belong to me. Will and the Elite belong to my friend Wicked, and are on loan. 

Synopsis: The thing about being a spy is that almost no one knows whose side you're really on. This creates problems. 

**Part Fourteen: Endings and Beginnings**

  


Azrael smiled to herself as she left the park, and an amused chuckle escaped her lips. _Meddling old men._ She wouldn't be surprised to find out that Will and Thierry had sat down and plotted this all out earlier. Someone had to have helped Will figure out what to say. He never made such pretty speeches on his own. It was much like she _knew_ they had to have planned together on letting her story 'leak' to Daybreak. 

_ Meddling, tricky old men._

The thought made her chuckle again as she headed towards the sanctuary. The streets were now bustling with activity, and with her decision pretty much made for her, she felt almost light-headed with relief. She wouldn't have to choose between the Elite and Hugh. She wouldn't have to live a half life. She wouldn't be forced to decide whether duty or love was more important to her. 

Will and Thierry might be meddling, tricky old men, but she had the feeling she'd thank them for it more then once in the future. 

Oh, intellectually she knew that they weren't out of the woods yet, not by a long shot. She still needed to talk to Hugh, there was the move to face and all the challenges that came with a newly-formed alliance, and the last Wild Power still hadn't been located... And after that, there was the Millennium Battle. But for once, she could look at it with something other then cynicism. _And Will calls _them_ idealists_, she thought merrily, _No doubt, he'd start gagging if he could see _my_ thoughts at the moment_. 

The rest of the way back to the sanctuary, she made an effort to calm herself, and to an extent, it worked. It was simple bad luck that Soraia happened to be the person on guard duty, just inside the front door. Azrael had to resist the urge to grin like a moron and share the news with the vampire. What was it _about_ that woman? She would make an excellent spy. People would tell her anything. 

Instead, she just returned Soraia's smile with one of her own, coming to a stop next to her chair. "Has Hugh come back?" 

Soraia scrutinized her thoughtfully, still smiling, and Azrael could feel herself blush a little. "Yeah, about half an hour ago," she said finally. 

"Can you tell me where to find his room?" 

Her blush deepened as the other woman's interest sharpened. "Yeah, I can," was all she said. 

Azrael gave her an exasperated look. "_Soraia_." 

She laughed, and shook her head, "Nope. That sort of information deserves something in return. You have to tell me what you and Will talked about, and what you decided." 

Azrael glared, which had little to no effect. She was about to tell Soraia that she would just go upstairs and start knocking on doors until she got the right one, no doubt annoying quite a few late sleepers, when the vampire's gaze fixed on something over Azrael's shoulder. "Drat," she said, good-naturedly, "There goes my bargaining chip. I guess you'll just have to tell me later." She cupped her hands around her mouth, and raised her voice to a volume that was nothing short of awe-inspiring, "Hugh! C'mere!" 

The witch turned, and tried not to flinch as half of Daybreak stopped what they were doing for a couple seconds to look at the two women, before movement and chatter resumed. Hugh had been exiting the kitchen, a bowl of cereal in one hand and a coffee cup in the other. He looked a little baffled at being hailed in such away, but he approached anyway, looking from Soraia to Azrael and back again. "Yes?" 

Soraia smiled again, obviously immensely pleased with herself, and Azrael had to resist the urge to grit her teeth. Old men weren't the only meddlers hanging about. "Azrael would like to speak with you," the vampire informed him pleasantly. 

His eyes flicked towards Azrael again, and she glared at Soraia for a moment longer before sighing, and nodding to Hugh. "We were supposed to speak today," she reminded him. 

"Alright," he replied, echoing her nod and heading towards the staircase. "You're incorrigible," she muttered for Soraia's ears alone, before following him, ignoring the quiet laughter that comment garnered. 

She and Hugh walked up the stairs and down the hall in silence, until they came to his door. The room was much like her own, except with more in the way of personal items, less in the way of military-like neatness, and an amazing amount of papers and books scattered about. There were a few half-packed boxes on the floor; like everyone else, he was preparing for the move to Las Vegas. 

He surveyed his room, and his lips quirked into a quick smile. "It's a bit of a mess," he admitted, placing his bowl and mug on the bedside table after clearing a little room, "Feel free to sit anywhere that's clear." 

She remained standing, since there didn't seem to _be_ much of anywhere to sit, except the bed, which would evoke levels of awkwardness that she had previously thought herself incapable of. Modesty and youthful coyness were not exactly sentiments that were encouraged when you were sleeping with the enemy, but those were some of the emotions that she was feeling. Hard as they were to single out from all of her _other_ emotions. She crossed her arms and tried to think of a way to broach the subject she really wanted to talk about, buying time by commenting blandly, "Your cereal is going to get soggy." 

"And my coffee is going to get cold," he agreed calmly, "It can wait." 

There was nothing she could say to that. At last, she settled on, "Will wanted to speak to me today. He gave me my new assignment." 

Something very like distress stole across his features and then disappeared. Not because he had hidden it behind a mask like it would have been with most anyone else she knew, Azrael realized with a touch of surprise, but because that serenity that he seemed to radiate was strong enough to overwhelm the distress. "I see. Of course, with us moving, you won't be staying ambassador for the Elite. Can I ask what you'll be doing next?" 

She licked her lips, and allowed some of her happiness at Will's orders to peak through. He smiled automatically, as if in response to her pleasure. "Actually, you're wrong. I've been given marching orders. I'm going to Vegas, as a permanent go-between for the two organizations, and to start up a division of the Elite there." 

He tilted his head, expression turning thoughtful, "This is what you wanted?" 

She chuckled, "I won't claim that I planned this, or that I even considered it as a possibility. But I'm not _unhappy_ with the decision, if that's what you mean, and it's a lot better then anything I was coming up with." She snorted, "Will and Thierry are scary geniuses. I won't go into their reasoning behind this. I guess I should saw 'Will's reasoning behind this', but I know Thierry was involved. We should have known better than to let those two get to know eachother." 

"Maybe the good will outweigh the bad?," Hugh suggested, smiling again. 

Azrael snorted, "I doubt anything can outweigh the fact that they're now punning off of eachother. I didn't even think Thierry _had_ a sense of humor." 

"He hides it well," he replied, "He has that whole reputation for wisdom and uprightness to protect." 

She gave him a strange look, "For that matter, I didn't know _you_ had a sense of humor." 

He made a face at her, "Thanks." 

Silence settled over the room again, not awkward exactly but a little bit strained. This time, he was the one who broke it. "And with us?" 

She looked down, considering her shoes with great interest. She wasn't good at this. Will was right, she was good at hiding her emotions, but she had never been good at sharing them – or at dealing with them. She knew what she wanted, but it was getting gradually harder to push the words out past the lump of emotions. Affection, fear of rejection, tentative joy, embarrassment, things she couldn't even identify, all meshed together. 

"Azrael?," Hugh prompted gently. He had moved closer without her noticing, and she looked up finally, meeting his eyes for what might have been the first time during the conversation. 

"I'd think we should try it," she answered quietly. 

The warm smile that started at his lips and lit his eyes was all the reward she could have wished for.   
  


It was a week and a half before Azrael saw Will again, and they were almost finished cramming the last of the boxes into the moving vans. Jez, Morgead, and Thierry had been shepherded to the airport hours ago, but the rest of them had remained to pack up the sanctuary. She had been standing off to one side, having a drink of water and listening to Soraia tease her about 'wedding bells', when she caught a movement at the edge of her vision. And there he was, as though he had appeared out of thin air, hands tucked into his pockets and a know-it-all grin on his lips. 

She excused herself, and made her way over to him, stopping a couple feet away. They just looked eachother over for a couple minutes, and Azrael found an answering grin make its way to her lips. "Hey, Will. Come to see me off?" 

He nodded. "You look happy." There was definitely a hint of smugness to his tone, and she laughed. 

"I am." Her gaze was draw to the bulging manila folder tucked under one of his arms. "What's that?" 

"Personnel files, weapons inventory, and things you'll need to know," Will said easily, handing her the folder, "I'll have everything shipped to you within a week, but I suspect you'll need time to settle into you position with Daybreak. I've rented a nice little three-story building to act as Elite headquarters in Las Vegas; the information for that is in the folder too." He smirked, "So it looks like reading material for the trip is taken care of." 

She feigned a put-upon sigh, and accepted the folder. The settled into silence, but it was a comfortable one. 

"Zeke is dead, you know," Will said suddenly. 

Azrael blinked at him, and nodded. Yes, she knew. Had known since the night he died. 

"Well?," Will said, smiling at her, "Ding dong, your family's murderer is dead. Your revenge is complete." 

She blinked again, and turned that over in her head, testing it. And then she smiled. "Yeah. I guess it is." The anger, the pain that had driven her for so long, simmering just under the surface, had dissolved somewhere along the way, without her noticing. Oh, she would still remain an Elite member, because they were her friends and like them, she believed that the Council needed to be taken down. But the need for vengeance was no longer her main motivation. 

Will laughed, and patted her shoulder fondly. "Uh-huh. Take care, Az. Try not to get killed or anything." And with that, he disappeared as quickly and as suddenly as he had arrived, leaving a smiling Azrael behind. 

"Pompous old goat," she mused to herself, simply so that Will wouldn't get the last word. 

Then she went to find Hugh. The future was looking brighter then it had in a long time. She had the Elite, and Daybreak, and between them a circle of friends whom she adored. And she had love. Love that she could accept with her whole heart. 

There was a lot to look forward to.   
  


_"Truth is beautiful, without doubt; but so are lies."_

- Ralph Waldo Emerson

**End.**

  


_Notes: Author's Note below._   
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**~*~**

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_ This story was started on December 7th, 2002. Thirty-four pages and fourteen chapters later, on March 2nd, 2003, it was finished. The longest story I'd written, before Pretty Lies, was thirteen pages and two parts.___

_ In other words: Go me.___

_ This story would never have gotten so far if it weren't for Soraia and Wicked. Soraia and I actually met through this story, and she's been absolutely wonderful, helping me brainstorm and even becoming a plot device. If it weren't for her, Hugh and Az would never have gotten together, and I never would have finished this. And if it weren't for Wicked, this never would have even gotten started. Will and the Elite were one of the main inspirations, and if she hadn't been kind enough to lend them to me, this idea would have died before it really got off the ground. A million thanks to both of you.___

_ Many, _many_ thanks to everyone who kept with the story and reviewed, even when I was slow or infrequent updating.___

_ Alright. Enough mushiness from me.___

_ As you can probably tell, I'm extremely happy that I finished this. I have several other story ideas on the back-burner that I want to work on, so expect a new project soon.___

_ Once again, thank you all, and I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it._


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